IN THE SHADOW 
O F T H E 
CUMBERLANDS 



FREDERICK 

WILLIAM 

POWERS 



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Sexton 



IN THE SHADOW 
OF THE 

CUMBERLANDS 

A STORY 

OF 

KENTUCKY MOUNTAIN LIFE 

By 

Frederick: william powers 


ILLUSTRATED. 


1 



€aUimbi». 


The Champlin Printing Company 
Columbus, Ohio 
1904 




LIBRARY of COt\IGStSS 
Two Copies rJeceived 

NOV 16 1904 

^ Copynent titiry 

tDil/L. 3o, 

CLASS ^ XXc. NO! 

COPY b. 


Copyright 1904 

By Frederick William Powers 

All rights reserved. 


TO 

FRANCIS 


AND 



LEORA 





















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Tobk Sexton 1 

II. A Bit of History 10 

III. Ceifton and the Sextons 16 

IV. A Kentucky Fourth ...... 26 

V. A Taek in the Dark 47 

VI. Lady and Medeey Quarrel ... 51 

VII. Buzzard Roost Gulch 60 

VIII. Sexton has a Dream 76 

IX. Over Satan's Leap 90 

X. “Rattlesnake an’ Bust Head’’ . 108 

XI. In the Trap 116 

XII. Medley Visits the Sextons ... 121 

XIII. A Moonshiner’s Advice 128 

XIV. Henry Po.sts a Letter 137 

XV. The Explosion 142 

XVI. An Impartial Trial 146’ 

XVII. The Rattle in the Cave .... 154 

XVIII. “I have been Dreading This’’ . . 159 

XIX. A Burning Secret 163 

XX. Swift’s Silver Mines 163 

XXL “There He Rests’’ 175 

XXII. Hallowe’en in Ashla-nd 181 

XXIII. “I AM One of Them’’ 188 

Five Years After 19T 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


Sexton 


Frontispiece 




“He keeled and with a groan fell at her 

FEET.’’ Facing p 18 v 

“ It pointed to an overhanging cliff, three 

HUNDRED feet ABOVE THEIR HEADS”, “ 38 

Moonshiners dropping a detective into the 

“lower regions.’’ “ 60 X 


Taking the obligation op the Dixie Shin- ^ 

ER’S, cave No. 482 “ 64 

“Hits all mine, hits all mine, ez fer es yer 

EYES KIN SEE.’’ “ 80 


“A BLINDING flash!’’ “ 96 

“Two LONG ARMS RAISED ABOVE THE GIRL, — ’’ . “ 112 ^ 


He threw up HIS ARMS PLEADINGLY, AND FELL 
TO HIS knees’’ — 


130 


y 


Beautiful Bath Avenue, Ashland, Kentucky 


144 


“A HAPPY THRONG GATHERED AT ASHL.AND’S 

First Presbyterian Church that day.’’ “ 


160 


Knitting a sock to match one that was 

FINISHED ANOTHER WINTER — FOR A FOOT 

THAT IS GONE” “ 176 



IN THE SHADOW OF 
THE CUMBERLANDS 


CHAPTER 1. 
tobe sexton. 

LOWLY a southern sun was sinking. 
The light of a dying day, like a mem- 
ory hovered over the western sky. 
Up from a waste of unkept fields 
softly as a whisper stole the fragrant breath of 
approaching night. On an upland among the 
Cumberland's blue-domed peaks stood an old 
man, and he too, was in the twilight of his day. 
Character had stamped this man with a powerful 
seal. His hair and beard as white as virgin snow 
marked a closing year, yet a frame as rugged as 
the wilds that lie about seemed fit to withstand 
many another blasting gale. With folded amis 
on the rider of a vagrant fence he looked out over 
an expanse of grandeur — meadow, woodland, 
gulch, spur, and on, to the far ofY peaks where 




2 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

the earth rose up and kissed the sky. His eyes 
traveled a yellow strip of dirt — a road, that 
wound far down and away to the North where 
stretched the Sandy Valley, a great green basin, 
gently sloping from the foothills of the Cumber- 
lands to the Ohio. More than seventy years this 
picturesque spot had been his home. In the aged 
log house which here lifted its humble gables he 
was born ; and never had he strayed far from its 
friendly hearth, save when he rode with Morgan, 
the Raider. 

There was naught in the abounding art, po^ 
etry, or romance of the panorama that charmed 
Tobe Sexton to that old worm fence — ^brought 
him to turn one backward glance over a trodden 
trail. He thought not of any impendence, still 
some alien energy strove to shoot a warning spark 
where reason failed to penetrate. He, himself, 
could not have told why he stood forlorn in con- 
templation of a past. 

This man Sexton was a Kentucky Moun- 
taineer ; a type of pioneer days, stocky, muscular, 
with strength like a bear, and a will of iron. His 
passions might be turbulent as a tornado or gentle 
as an infant’s smile, that depended. Of culture 
he had little, needed little, but a native force im- 
bued with the positiveness of his mountains had 


TOBE SEXTON. 


3 


made of him a monarch of his class. Yet below it 
all, there beat a tender heart, for he was a mu- 
sician. 

Finally darkness came and broke the old man's 
revery. He turned away with a sigh and went 
into the house. The cheerful breeze of a May 
evening played through the room. He took his 
violin from the wall and sat down by an open 
window. For nearly twO' hundred years this 
violin had been a pleasure to his people and for 
miles around its fame was known. 

Sexton drew the bow across the strings and 
the sweet notes of an old-time melody echoed 
through the surrounding forest. Then, fliere 
came from another room a fair young girl, of 
not more than sixteen years, and stood by the 
old musician. It was his only daughter. Lady 
Sexton; and as delicate and graceful as a wild 
flower was she, with a face divinely beautiful 
and hair as black as night clustering in ringlets 
of ebony about her shapely shoulders. The girl 
said never a word to the powerful man, so dif- 
ferent from her, but with a distressed look pain- 
fully plain upon her sweet face she waited. 

When he had finished the piece he was playing 
he arose, hung the violin upon the wall, and 


4 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


walked to* the door. His daughter turned to- 
wards him and said : 

“Father, where are you going?” 

“I wuz thinkin’ Fd potter over ’bout ther still, 
Lady. Why? Do you need er bucket uv water 
’fore I go?” he said. 

“No, I want to talk to you, father : I want to 
tell you how sad I am, don’t be angry, father, I 
feel that I must plead with you to give up the 
business of making whiskey. Father, some day, 
the marshals will come and get you, and take you 
away to prison: then, what will become of me?” 

“Daughter, Fll listen ter ye, but Fm ’fraid hit’ll 
be hard work learnin’ an’ old dog new tricks,” 
said Sexton, again taking his seat, his face grow- 
ing troubled. 

“Do you remember, father, the vow you made 
the day my dear mother died? Do you re- 
member, father, that you promised her, then, 
when I was a little child that you would rear me 
as a lady, and that you would never again vi- 
olate the law, or sin against the Lord, by making 
whiskey? Father, do' you remember all those 
promises?” She was now looking beseechingly, 
at his rigid face, her soft eyes filled with tears. 

“Yes, my daughter, I do, but I low as ter how 
some one is goin’ ter make ther stuff ; an’ I mout 


TOBE SEXTON. 


5 


ez well hev ther benefit ez ther next one; an’, ez 
ter ther danger uv them marshals gittin’ me, 
that’s er long sight easier said than done. W’y, 
thar haint emuf New-Nited States marshals in 
Kaintucky, ter fotch me outin thet den uv mine; 
an’, bein’ ez two of them laddy-bucks hev been 
drapped from ther bosses, by Sandy County boys, 
since last Spring, I don’t rekon marshals will be 
ez thick ez skeeters this Fall, no how,” said the 
old man, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. 

“Father,” she continued with more determina- 
tion in her voice, “it was not right to murder 
those poor men ; they were doing their duty ; they 
came into Sandy County tO' take the moonshiners 
to court. You have no right to make whiskey 
without paying the government tax. It is no 
less murder to kill a United States Deputy-Mar- 
shal than any one else.” 

Sexton arose, strode back and forth across 
the room, seemingly in deep thought — then sud- 
denly stopping, he confronted her and shaking 
his clenched fist, cried : 

“My daug'hter, I haint say in’ hits right ter kill 
deputy-marshals; nuther am I calculatin’ hits 
’ezactly accordin’ to scriptur fer them ter come 
inter these mountains, pour out er feller’s beer, 
chop his still ter pieces, an’ carry him off ter lay 


6 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 


in ther gover’ment jail fer six months, ur a year. 
Ther Lord Almighty giv man ther land fer ter 
make er livin’ ofen. He furnished man with 
seed corn, an’ apple sprouts; an’ told him ter go 
forth an’ plant em, an’ ter make use uv ther 
products ez he seed fit. Ther Lord didn’t say, 
don’t yer make corn whiskey outin yer corn, nur 
he didn’t say, don’t make apple jack outin yer 
apples ; but, he did say : He causeth ther grass 
ter grow fer ther cattle, an’ ther herbs fer ther ser- 
vice uv man ; thet he may bring forth food outin 
ther yearth ; an’ wine thet maketh glad ther heart 
uv man, an’ ile ter make his face ter shine, an’ 
bread which strengthens man’s heart. My child, 
hits nuthin more nur less than northern spite- 
work; they send ther deputy-marshals into Sandy 
County, they what runs ther gover’ment — spite> 
ful Northern Yankees — ^becaze they want veng- 
eance; they haint furgot thet ther Big Sandy 
Rifles rode with Morgan — ther Raider — in ’62; 
they haint fergot how we mowed em down at 
Shiloh. They haint satisfied ter hev destroyed 
our salt works, freed our niggars, an’ burn’d our 
houses; they want ter keep ther yoke on our 
necks, by taxin’ our rights. Talk er about er free 
country! hits free, if yer Winchester barks ofen 
ernuf. We ar’ denied ther privilege uv doin’ 


TOBE 8EXT0N. 


7 


what we please with ther fruit uv our trees, ther 
grain uv our fields. They put er tax so high on 
whiskey makin’ thet no man can afford ter make 
hit, unlessen, he ar’ some Northerner, what has 
money ernuf ter rig up er great steam still, thet 
will run more liquor in er day then my copper 
kettles would in er year. So, ye see, my child, 
that we, uv Sandy County, ar’ forced by ther 
infernal Yankees, ter let our craps go ter waste, 
ur resort ter moonshinin’, ez they please ter call 
hit.’’ 

“Father,” rejoined the girl, at the same time 
walking up to* him and stroking his hair, lovingly, 
‘T know that you are honest in what you say ; to 
you, it does not appear wrong to ‘moonshine;’ 
but, father, it is wrong, and I fear that unless 
you quit it, great trouble will befall us of Sandy 
County. The laws of our government are just, 
and must be obeyed. You can not conceal your 
work so cunningly but some one will betray you. 
Promise me, father, that you will give up this 
dangerous pursuit; that you will be faithful to 
that promise — the promise you gave my mother.” 

“My daughter !” thundered Sexton, “much 
book lamin’ has put Yankee idees inter yer head. 
Lady, I have alus done er good part by ye. 
When yer mother died didn’t I take ye out uv 


8 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

ther mountains an’ put ye ter live with quality 
people? Didn’t they edgercate ye, an’ care fer ye 
an’ love ye ez dearly ez they would ther own ?” 

“Yes, father,” she replied, her eyes filling with 
tears. 

“Now,” he continued more enraged than ever, 
“ye come home er fine lady, an’ in return fer my 
fatherly love, an’ good hard cash, what do I git? 
Insults, threats an’ abuse. Ye tell me thet my 
life’s work is wrong, thet I am an outlaw,” he 
continued with vehemence: “My daughter, 1 
love ye, but ye must never cross me ergin with 
yer cursed Northern ideas. Had any man, in all 
Sandy County, dared ter say ter Sexton what 
ye hev said this day, him er me one would hev 
died, ez sure ez ther corn whiskey drips from my 
still-worm, in yander mountain.” 

While this conversation was going on, a weary 
traveler tramped along the old mountain road, 
that winds its lonely way from Richardson to 
Pound Gap, through primeval forest, over hills 
clad in evergreens, ferns, laurel and ivy; frag- 
rant with the odor of wild service, mint, peny- 
royal, and blooming honeysuckles. This traveler 
was a young man of medium build, lean, slim, 
agile, wearing with easy grace a soldier’s blue uni- 
form. A fresh, pure, brilliant complexion glowed 


TOBE SEXTON. 


9 


with health and radiated with youthful ambition; 
ii: keeping with this complexion, a mass of loose 
yellow hair, curled about a nobly shaped head; 
there was little beauty in the face itself, except in 
the fascinating blue eyes which seemed to pene- 
trate the very depths of the unknown. One un- 
acquainted with this foot-sore and dust begrimed 
traveler, would have mistaken him for a youth, in- 
experienced and unused tO' the hardships of life ; 
but, deeper insight would have proven the fallacy 
of this conception, for notwithstanding his imma- 
ture appearance, he had faced many hardships — 
had been pitted against the rougher criminal 
classes of the world. 


CHAPTER II. 


A BIT OB HISTORY. 

LIFTON ALLEN, the traveler, had 
for five years been in Uncle Sam’s 
secret service. His father had served 
almost a lifetime in the same capacity. 

The senior Allen made his advent along the 
northern brakes of the Cumberland mountains, 
on the Southeastern border of Kentucky soon 
after the close of the Civil war. At that time 
the entire South was groaning under its load of 
social wreckage. The Commonwealth was striv- 
ing desperately to adjust itself tO' the new condi- 
tions. Down in the “Settlements” — the Blue 
Grass region — the negroes were demonstrating 
the virtue of their emancipation by committing 
pillage and outrage on their old masters ; while in 
the mountains bands of horse-thieves, highway- 
men, and house-breakers were nightly masquerad- 
ing. Ku-Klux, Regulators, Moderators and oth- 
er mystic clans sprang up in almost every neigh- 



A BIT OF HISTORY. 


11 


borhood, designedly to^ restrain and punish trans- 
gression, but by the nature of their precepts their 
purpose was thwarted by breeding a spirit of 
lawlessness that culminated in mid-night lynch- 
ings, lashings and depredations beyond number, 
until their names became as terrible as the Span- 
ish Inquisition, or the Holy Vehem of Germany 
in the middle ages. 

The hollows, gulches, chasms and caverns of 
the Pine, Big Stone, and Log Mountains afforded 
a safe retreat for the criminals and refugees of 
the bordering States. All in all, a condition of 
lawlessness unparalleled in the annals of Amer- 
ican history existed and throve in this remote 
corner of the Old Blue Grass State. Counter- 
feiting, moonshining, gambling and fighting 
were common diversions from the more sober 
habits of husbandry, while law and order in those 
days commanded about as much respect as did 
Mother Shipton’s prophecies. 

George Allen, Clifton’s father, for some three 
or four years during this turbulent period, indo- 
lently roamed over these mountains from coun- 
terfeiters’ rendezvous to moonshiners’ strong- 
hold ; from ku-klux conference to marauders’ con- 
clave — indeed he mingled in unlimited freedom 
with all classes. At times he would assist a friend- 


12 IN THE SHADOW OF THE 0UMBERLAND8. 


ly coiiiacker to dispense the coin of the realm ; 
while again he would lend a helping hand to some 
genial Shiner who sought to beguile from the 
maize the soothing drops of mountain dew. 
Gambling was tO' him an instinct, and as long as 
games were running his treasury was sure to be 
replete. Such was the early career of Clifton 
Allen’s father in the Cumberlands ; but, late in the 
autumn of the year of our Cord eighteen hun- 
dred and seventy, without any formal fare- 
well to man or maid, he abruptly snapped 
the tender ties that bound him to the moun- 
tain clansmen. He was not heard of until in 
the following spring when many of his adven- 
turous friends, counterfeiters and moonshiners, 
were extended a pressing invitation to visit the 
United States Court. To insure prompt com- 
pliance, he came with a host of revenue officers, 
and conducted them thither, bearing all expenses 
of the journey; and, within twelve months from 
the bestowal of these courtesies, the United States 
Deputy Marshal became a part and parcel of the 
Cumberland’s social machinery. 

Secondhand counterfeiting outfits and ‘‘one 
man stills” could be had at a much reduced price, 
owing tO' their owner’s absence on business ; most 
of them at that time being engaged by the govern- 


A BIT OF HISTORY. 


13 


nient. And from then on, for more than twenty 
years, George Allen continued to harass shiners 
and coniackers, until his name was to them a 
household word of terror from the Pine moun- 
tains to the mouth of Sandy. Every place that 
would afford a suitable rendezvous for either 
counterfeiting or illicit distilling was known to 
him; surely no man since the days of Boone was 
so familiar with the geography of that part of 
Kentucky, as was he. But, like the old pitcher 
that went to the well, he made one trip too many ; 
one from which he never returned. 

It was some time back in the year 1890, that 
George Allen and four associates left the village 
of Eevica and made their way toward Buzzard 
Roost Gulch, where a band of counterfeiters 
were operating. This is the last time that Allen 
and his crew were ever heard of. All diligence 
was used to ascertain their fate, but in vain. It 
was generally believed that they had been mur- 
dered and their bodies burned or cast into some 
sullen chasm for the panthers and wildcats to 
devour, which held unmolested habitation there. 

Since Clifton Allen’s earliest memory he had 
looked forward with a thrill of childish joy to 
each home-coming of his father ; that time to the 
boy being a period of unbroken pleasure. Be- 


14 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBEBLANDS. 

sides lavishing sweet-meats upon him, his father 
would take the little lad upon his knee and pour 
into his eager ears thrilling tales of those queer 
folks, who lived far up among the mountains. 
As the boy grew older, Allen taught him the songs 
of the Shiner’s, and it was a strange and pretty 
contrast to hear the small piping child’s voice, 
singing of stills and whiskey making, and such 
other things, without having any idea of what it 
all meant. 

And when Cliff’s mother would throw her arms 
around his father’s neck, as he made ready to 
leave on another crusade, and with weeping eyes 
and pathetic sobs plead with him not to go, say- 
ing, “George, don’t go up in to those dreadful 
mountains, those men will some dav kill you,” 
Allen would pat the boy fondly on the head and 
answer : 

“If I get killed. Cliff will go up and avenge 
me.” Then the little fellow would go and hold 
his father’s hand, and dance around him, beam- 
ing with admiration, and in his babyish prattle, 
lisp, “I ’ish I tood do wif ’oo dis time, poddy, an’ 
hep ’ou till Siners.” 

The years glided by and each succeeding one 
found Allen faithfully leading his convoy of 
Deputies into, or escorting his caravan of pris- 


A BIT OF HISTORY. 


15 


oners out of these wild and awful Cumberlands. 

As little Cliff grew older, the impressions 
stamped on his babyish intellect by the stories and 
jests of his father developed into a staunch guid- 
ing influence that was now shaping a destiny so 
completely, that no human agency could change 
its purpose. So, when, instead of his gallant 
parent, that trying hour came, with its sad intel- 
ligence, Cliff stood mutely calm, and heard them 
say that his father was dead, somewhere, up in 
those terrible mountains — where, no' one knew. 
Then all his long made promises to his father to 
avenge such a crime, came over his troubled 
thoughts like a whirling tornado, sweeping all 
his fancies into one great path — on to one mighty 
end. 

Mrs. Allen watched for the coming of her hus- 
band, until the last ray of hope flickered and went 
out, then she returned to her native city where 
she and her children henceforth made their home 
with her father. In time came the boy’s college 
days. His studies were pursued in an indifferent- 
aimless way. He read many books and applied 
himself assiduously to music. He had but one 
particular aim in life, — to avenge his father’s 
death, — to be true to his childish promise. All 
things else were subservient to this one roman- 
tic dream. 


CHAPTER HI. 


CI.I1PT0N AND THE SEXTONS. 

S soon as his age would permit, young 
Allen enlisted in the Secret Service, 
and by his inborn cunning soon 
worked into favor with his superior 
who humored his whims and encouraged his ec- 
centricities. 

At last with marvelous swiftness, events began 
to play into his hands. Two deputy marshals, 
Rus Waterman and a colleague, had been mur- 
dered from ambush while traveling through that 
part of Kentucky known as the ‘‘Roughs of Tug.” 
The “Service” cast about for the right man to 
hunt down the criminals, and Clifton Allen was 
sent to the Cumberlands. 

Heretofore most of his work had been confined 
to the city, but now his labors were in a different 
field, and of a different nature. His craftiness 
was tO' be matched with that of a people unlike 
any he had ever known. It was in this region 




CLIFTON AND THE SEXTON 8. 


17 


that the bloodiest of all the implacable mountain 
feuds had, for years, raged impetuously; with 
the Hatfield clan arrayed against the McCoy 
faction, in a deadly quarrel where hatred and 
contention were to be terminated only by death; 
it was here that Rus Waterman and his compan- 
ion had met death from ambush and it was here 
that death to the revenue officer lurked in every 
passing zephyr, and life depended on the fineness 
of a nerve. 

For one so young and inexperienced as Cliff to 
attempt the capture of an organized band of out- 
laws who were violating by wholesale the 
revenue laws would, at first blush, appear as 
nothing less than sheer fool-hardiness, and when 
it was learned that he had been sent to the 
'‘Roughs of Tug” many grave apprehensions 
were heard and much anxiety was felt for the 
young lad. But Cliff heeded not the danger. A 
voice from the grave — his father’s voice — called 
him on, and he must answer it. 

As Cliff wended his way along through a deep 
shadowed ravine, hemmed in with black towering 
mountains, the awful grandeur of the scene 
brought back a train of long forgotten thoughts : 
“And these are the mountains my father loved 
so well,” he mused; “and this, the same old road 


18 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

he used to- tell me about as I sat on his knee and 
listened to his stories. Poor father,! wonder what 
was his fate.” Just then a wood-thrush up in a 
cluster of laurels on the mountain-side broke 
into an ecstatic carol that brought a lighter theme 
to mind and as he trudged up the slope, he 
hummed the words of a “Shiner’s Song” — the 
song his father had taught him : 

"Jist over ther hill thar stands a little still, 

An’ ther smoke curls up ter ther sky, 

Ye kin easily tell by ther whiffle uv ther still, 

Thet thars liquor in ther air close by.” 

As the last words were sung, the deep baying 
of a pack of blood-hounds suddenly arrested his 
attention; the “Shiner’s Song” was not com- 
pleted, for, turning, he saw through an opening 
in the forest, that they were on his track. His 
first impulse was to draw his revolver and defend 
himself; but his better judgment decided more 
wisely. A few yards ahead he espied, near the 
fence, a large chestnut tree. He sprang onto the 
fence, then into the tree, and none too soon ; for 
as he cleared the lower branches, the dogs snapped 
viciously at his heels. 

From his position, looking over the surround- 
ing shrubbery, he discovered an old log house; 
the foundation stones were covered with moss. 



He reeled and with a croan fell at her feet 


t 





y 



N 




I 

• « 







CLIFTON AND THE SEXTONS. 


19 


the walls matted with blooming morning-glory 
vines. On the gallery in front of the door stood 
an old woman, in great agitation, waving her 
gingham sun-bonnet and shrieking at the top of 
her voice: 

“Per ther luv uv heaven, Tobe Sexton, come 
outin thet house, an’ drive them infernel, blood- 
thirsty critters away frum yan tree. Thar’s er 
man, er live human man, treed thar by them 
dorgs. I reckon ye’d sot thar an’ let em eat ’im 
bodaciously up, ’fore ye’d budge an inch. I’d 
kill ther last critter uv ’em, if ’twar me. W’y 
er stranger darsent pass er long ther highway, 
fer fear thet Sexton’s hungry hounds will grind 
him inter sausage meat.” 

Tobe Sexton leisurely sauntered out the door, 
and, in reply to the spirited outburst of his old 
maid sister, said: “W’y, by Jingo, Mandy, I 
!never seed ye take on so since thet shoutin’ 
spasm ye had at ther Brushy revival. W’y bless 
yer bones, them pups wouldn’t harm ther man, 
no mor’n er baby.” 

Sexton strolled lazily across the yard to the 
chestnut ; the hounds were tearing away the bark 
with their teeth, and viciously lunging against 
the fence, as if to up-root the tree, or have their 
prey. 


20 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

“Pore old boys,” he affectionately remarked, 
as he fondled the angry brutes. “I pon my 
honor, ef ye haint treed er coon in broad day light. 
I’m er liar. Well, who’d er thunk hit?” Shad- 
ing his eyes with his hand, he peered up into the 
tree, apparently expecting to see some wild ani- 
mal, but discovering a man, instead, he remarked . 
“Well, bless my life! thet beats Davy Crockett’s 
ghost! er soldier, in er chestnut tree. I’v hearn 
tell uv all kinds uv foragin’, but this caps ther 
stack — stealing chestnuts in May. W’y bless 
yer soul. Sonny, they haint quit bloomin’ yit. 
Come on down, ther dogs won’t hurt ye, fhey’r 
harmless ez er baby.” 

“Drive them away, and I’ll come down,” replied 
Cliff, still holding his position in the tree. 

“Go ter ther house, boys, ther last one uv ye, 
ther fun’s all over,” said Sexton, peremptorily 
shaking his fist at the dogs, which slunk away. 
Cliff slid down and laughingly remarked : 

“The hounds gave me a terrible scare.” 

“They’r nothin’ but put ons, and’ pretends, but, 
in course ye didn’t know hit, an’, I low they’d fool 
most folks what didn’t know their pecooliarities 
fer sport. But, Vhat’s agitatin’ ther public 
minds at present,’ ez John Lanktry said in his 
speech at Paintsville, is not dogs, but what busi- 


CLIFTON AND THE 8EXT0N8. 


21 


ness er Yankee soldier has in these hyre moun- 
tains?” said Sexton, eyeing the stranger criti- 
cally. 

Cliff knew his salvation hinged on his answer, 
but he was equal to the emergency. Stepping 
nearer the man and speaking in an undertone, he 
replied : 

‘‘Can I trust you, or will you betray me, should 
I tell you a secret ?” 

Sexton’s eyes twinkled with a deep glow of 
interest, as he answered : 

“Podner, I don’t like ther color uv yer cloze, 
but no man ever heard uv ole Tobe Sexton givin’ 
away er secret ur turnin’ states evidence. W’y 
by fury, burnin’ in torment is too good fer ther 
man what would do' either uv ’em. So, twixt 
me an’ you, and’ ther gate post, ye can proceed 
with yer confession.” 

Cliff leaned very near him and whispered : 

“I am a deserter. At the out-break of the 
Spanish-American war, I volunteered, but three 
months of soldier life was enough for this 
chicken. I made up my mind at first opportunity 
to desert ; so, when the train that carried our reg- 
iment to the South passed through Catlettsburg, 
Kentucky, I jumped off and concealed myself in 
the woods that night. The next morning I hid 


22 m THE SHADOW OF THE 0UMBERLAHD8. 

in an empty car, which was on the way to White 
House; then I traveled on foot tO' where your 
dogs treed me.’’ 

Sexton who was impressed by the young man’s 
sincerity, and blinded by his own prejudice 
against the Government, stepped headlong into 
the web that was sO' ingeniously woven for him. 
Not giving Cliff time to continue, he stormed : 

“D good thing, sir! D good! I’m 

glad ye done hit, ye wuz er fool fer volunteerin’ 
but er d wise man fer desertin’. By ther eter- 

nals, I’m yer friend, up one side an’ down ’tother. 
All ther blue coats this side uv Spain can’t git ye 
out uv Sandy County, if ye pin yer faith ter ole 
Tobe Sexton. 

“What do you think I had better do?” asked 
Cliff, confidentially. 

“Change them blue rags fer citizen’s cloze, 
an’ make yer home with me till danger’s over. I 
kin find work fer ye, if yer pretty handy, an’ got 
lots of grit,” replied Sexton. 

“Father, supper is ready.” 

Cliff turned, and saw standing on the gallery, 
in the full blush of budding womanhood. Lady 
vSexton. With a graceful movement, that 
thrilled him, she turned, and passed into- the 
house. He was entranced in a study of that 


OLIFTON AND THE SEXTONS. 


28 


beautiful face, that perfect form, when Sexton 
spoke : 

“Come, stranger, let’s see what ther wimen 
folks hev ter chaw on. I low yer appetite won’t 
need no whettin’ fer this meal’s vituls.” 

At the supper table Cliff met “Aunt Mandy,” 
Sexton’s old maid sister, and Lady, his daughter. 
When all were seated, Sexton inquired : 

“Stranger, what mout yer name be?” 

With perfect readiness. Cliff answered : 

“Henry Thogmartin.” 

A trite conversation followed and by his natural 
felicity of manner, Henry, as Cliff was called, 
and as he will be known hence-forth, stole into 
the good will of the whole family, so that they 
talked with as much freedom as if he belonged to 
their mountain brood. In the home of Sexton, 
he found comfort and warm hospitality, the 
rugged character of the Kentucky Mountaineer, 
and “a poetry of native growth which they had 
gathered when they very little thought of it, from 
the evergreen knobs, the mountain peaks and 
chasms, and at the very threshold of their ro- 
mantic and dangerous abode.” 

In the evening as the twilig'ht blended into 
deeper shadows, the family assembled on the gal- 
lery. Sexton took from its hanging his violin. 


24 IN THE SHADO W OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


“Ole Bull,” as he fondly called it, and, to his 
master touch, the instrument responded, at times 
lulling the soiil into gentle moods, and, then at 
a turn of the air, tempting the feet to dance; 
while, through the star-lit air, the sweet strains 
of long ago tunes, so familiar to the pioneer set- 
tlers of the Sandy Valley: “The Forked Deer,” 
“The Lower Blue Licks,” “Money Musk,” “Wil- 
lie in the Low Ground,” “Boating Down 
Sandy,” and many others floated into the wil- 
derness and mingled with the song of the 
night bird. When Sexton concluded, Henry 
asked to examine the instrument, and to the 
surprise of the family, rendered in a most 
enchanting style, “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sona- 
ta,” putting as it were his very soul into the 
melody. If his frankness and gentle manner 
had fallen short of winning their entire confi- 
dence, this extraordinary exploit had removed 
the last remaining tinge of suspicion; and from 
that time on, Henry was the idol of the family. 

At the request of her father. Lady then took 
the violin and with natural grace and fine Italian 
touch, brought from the instrument such sweet 
chords, as she sang with purity of voice an old 
love song, that the tender emotions of Henry’s 
heart were stirred into a glow of love for this 


CLIFTON AND THE SEXTONS. 


25 


innocent mountain girl. She presented a glor- 
ious picture, this rustic beauty, haloed in golden 
moonlight — a picture that death, alone, could 
erase from the young detective’s memory. 

After that night, Henry occupied almost the 
place of a son and a brother in the hearts of the 
Sextons. The music had dispelled that reserve, 
that coolness, which holds the family aloof from 
the stranger; which makes the traveler feel the 
loneliness of the wilderness, although he be sur- 
rounded by a surging tide of human-kind. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 



OR three long, hot months the dreary 
drag of farm routine wore away. 
Henry had made several discoveries, 
and was slowly straightening out 
the tangled threads of a clue; however, his 
most important discovery was his love for Lady 
Sexton. He had taken a deep' interest in her 
from the very first; her presence there among 
the rude mountaineers was to him, like friend 
meeting friend in some foreign country, when 
each least expected it. He had given her violin 
lessons, had told her of his home, of his mother 
and sisters, how he longed to see them ; and, how 
she had made a bright spot in his memory, a spot 
that would remain long after he had left the 
mountains. He had never spoken to her of love; 
and, he little realized that the satin tendrills of 
affection for this mountain flower were entwining 
themselves about his heart — too strong to break 



A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


27 


— too secure to be torn away. This happy dream 
might have continued much longer had it not been 
for love’s ever guarding sentinel jealousy. 

One evening, while Henry and Lady were en- 
joying one of their musicals, on the gallery, some 
one on horse back rode up to the yard gate ; threw 
his bridle rein over the gate post, and with a 
graceful swagger came toward the house. 

“Mr. Thogmartin,” said Lady, “this is Mr. 
Critendon Medley,” The men shook hands, then 
Medley and Lady fell into a friendly con- 
versation, leaving Henry “out in the cold,” to use 
a common expression for it. 

Critendon Medley was a strong, heavy, young 
fellow with a ruddy face, and snapping black eyes. 
He was dressed carelessly and wore a broad 
brimmed, high crowned. Stetson hat. His clothes 
were the regulation gray, “store cloze,” so com- 
mon in the mountains of Kentucky. His hair was 
black and straight, and as he talked he would, 
from habit, ever little while, blow his breath 
on his hands, wring them through each 
other, and then rub the palms together vigor- 
ously; as you have seen boys do on a cold, 
frosty morning. He had just returned from col- 
lege at Lexington, where he had taken a business 


28 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


course. This was his first visit to the Sextons 
since his return. 

‘T heard that you were home, and have been 
expecting you,” said Lady. 

“Judging from what I have heard, I don’t sup- 
pose you have worried much about my not com- 
ing sooner,” ‘ said he, looking at Henry and 
winking. 

“Now what are you hinting at?” asked the girl, 
blushing. 

“Oh, nothing,” he laughingly replied, contin- 
uing, “Where’s Tobe?” 

“He and Aunt Mandy are out on the back 
porch, stringing beans,” she answered. 

“Well, let’s go out and see them; I want to tell 
the Old Man, howdy.” 

They arose and went into the house. Henry 
was filled with bitter jealousy. It was then that 
he realized how much Lady Sexton really was 
to him. To, thus, see Critendon Medley come 
between him and the girl he loved poisoned his 
heart with furious hatred for the young moun- 
taineer. 

A sudden melancholy siezed him; he wished 
he was miles away. The air about the house was 
oppressive; the surroundings were ugly and con- 
temptible. 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


ii9 


He walked out into the orchard and tried to 
eat an apple, but it tasted bitter and he threw it 
down and ground it into the dirt with his heel. 
Then he went over to the fence, by the old dirt 
road that had led him to the Sextons, and stood 
with one arm resting on the top rail. His eyes 
turned wistfully away down the valley, in the 
direction of the far O'ff Ohio. The night was quite 
dark, he could hear some hounds yelping on the 
mountain, chasing a fox. An old hoot-owl cried 
from down in the ravine ; he imagined it was ask- 
ing who had stolen its mate. A black cricket, 
under a stone near him, sang a lonesome 
song. A frog in the forks of an old apple tree 
croaked for rain. The moon rose slowly from 
behind the distant hills, and spread a mantle of 
gold over the “Sad Old Earth.” Late in the night 
he saw Medley leave the house and ride away; 
then he stole noiselessly to his room and 
went to bed; but sleep came slowly to him that 
night. He could still hear the hounds barking out 
on the mountain. The moon-light came in a 
great shower through his uncurtained window ; 
he lay watching the yellow light playing on the 
wall with the shadows from the leaves of a vine 
that clambered about his window. His thoughts 
ran riotously over the many changes that had 


30 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

come intO' his life since he had been in the moun- 
tains. In fancy he reviewed the many strange 
people he had met ; the peculiar faces he had seen ; 
now, out of the host came the one face, of all faces 
in the whole world for him — the face of Lady 
Sexton. And while he was dwelling on this 
beautiful vision, stern reality forced itself upon 
him, and, there, staring at him reproachfully, was 
the commanding visage of Duty, and as he saw 
the coils of justice closely winding themselves 
around his protectors, his friends, he shrank from 
the awful fate that awaited them, and fell asleep, 
thinking : “Why should it fall upon me, to bring 
misery and destruction to this happy family?” 

Early the following day Sexton rem^arked, 
“Thogmartin, there’s goin’ ter be er forth uv 
July picnic at Levica ter-day, an’ I lowed we’d 
better take it in ; what do ye say ?” 

Henry replied that he would be glad to go. 
After breakfast they went, on foot, about five 
miles to the picnic. The event had been thor- 
oughly advertised throughout the surrounding 
counties. Among the attractions mentioned 
were, a fight between a panther and a bull dog. 
a platform dance, a “blind-tiger”, (a place where 
moonshine whiskey is sold) a wheel of fortune, 
free ice water and plenty of “fiddlin’.” 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


31 


When Henry and Sexton arrived, the little 
town already showed the quickened pulsation of 
business activity. People had been thronging 
into the village since dawn, in fact some living 
at a great distance had come the night before. 
Buxom country lassies came on horseback with 
their sweethearts, men of families came in jolt- 
wagons, bringing ‘"ther old woman an’ ther 
young’n’s erlong,” while the nearer residents 
“hoofed hit” (walked). All ages were repre- 
sented in the gathering. The majority of the 
visitors, however, were young folks. 

Store clerks hurridly built stands for the pur- 
pose of offering refreshments for sale; the town- 
cow drank from a vender’s tub of lemonade, a 
razor-back hog stole a boiled ham from his scanty 
stock and ran with it into the creek. The town 
marshal, with his great shining star, and his five 
deputies, sworn in for the occasion, walked up 
and down the streets. 

Aunt Mandy Sexton was there, too, with her 
keg of apple cider and her basket of home made 
ginger cakes, at “five cents er piece ur three fer er 
dime.” 

At the corner of the public square, in a spring- 
wagon, stood a man from Lexington alternately 
pulling teeth with his fingers, and selling patent 


32 m THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAHD8. 


medicine. Two dogs engaged in an altercation 
under the vehicle and, during the excitement that 
followed, some one upset it. When the merri- 
ment thus provoked had subsided, a local jokey 
improved the opportunity by exhibiting a gray 
mule which he had trained tO' rear upon its hind 
legs and motion one forefoot, after the manner of 
shaking hands. This exposition of genius was 
interrupted by the appearance of “The Silver 
Cornet Band,” which formed a circle in front of 
the principal tavern and proceeded to dispense 
those popular Southern melodies : “My Old 

Kentucky Home,” “Nellie Gray,” “The Southern 
Girl,” and “Dixie.” Thus the festivities of the 
day advanced. 

Levica was a “dry town,” no licensed saloons 
being permitted, but “Moonshine” (as illicitly 
distilled whiskey is called in the mountains of 
Kentucky) could be procured in a plentiful quan- 
tity from an old log house which stood on the 
out-skirts of the village. This structure and its 
occupancy constituted what is known in that lo- 
cality as “a blind-tiger,” while the mystic process 
of obtaining whiskey therefrom is dubbed 
“twisting the tiger’s tail.” 

While the band was playing Sexton nudged 
Henry and giving him the wink to follow, walked 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


38 


away from the crowd that had gathered to hear 
the music. The old man betook himself to act as 
Henry’s guide and seemed to find a great deal of 
enjoyment in pointing out those things which he 
deemed of interest to his guest, occasionally add- 
ing spicy bits of local history. 

“Thogmartin, would ye like ter twist ther 
tiger’s tail ?” Sexton asked when they had gone 
a little way. This Henry was most anxious to 
do, and quickly replied : 

“Yes, how do you do it?” 

“Come, an’ I’ll show ye.” 

Thereupon they went toi the “blind-tiger” — an 
old twO' story log house, in the side of which was 
a small opening, about four feet from the ground, 
and perhaps four inches square. Through this 
opening, on an inside shelf, set an empty cigar 
box. Sexton dropped a silver quarter in the box 
and it forthwith took an excursion along the 
shelf, and disappeared through a curtain, inside 
the wall. Presently the box returned as if by 
magic, and therein, in lieu of the coin, was a half- 
pint flask filled with pure, native corn whiskey, 
as clear as the water that bubbles from a moun- 
tain spring. 

While this slight-of-hand performance was 
going on inside, Henry was doing a little “turn” 


34 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 


of his own on the outside. He quietly slipped 
a piece of chinking from between the logs of the 
house, thus gaining a full view of the interior; 
but he was not expecting what he saw ; for, to his 
consternation, he discovered Critendon Medley, 
administering to the wants of the “tiger.” 

After leaving the “blind-tiger” Henry and 
Sexton went to a beech grove a short distance 
from the village where the dancing platform, a 
floor made of rough boards elevated about six 
inches off the ground, was erected. On a broad, 
high bench placed at one side of the platform sat 
two blind fiddlers, locally famous for their music 
and their songs. 

The dancing had not yet begun but at a pre- 
arranged moment the signal to open the ball was 
given. A young man with fiery red hair stepped 
upon the platform and shouted : “Get yer pard- 
ners fer ther first set.” Immediately, four 
couples took their positions, the fiddlers struck 
up “Cotton Eyed Joe,” and the young man with 
the fiery red hair yelled : “Honor yer pai driers, 
corners ther same, jine hands an’ circle ter ther 
left” — the dance was on. 

A young woman of more than striking ap- 
pearance attracted Henry’s notice as he stood 
watching the dancers. She was perhaps eighteen 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


36 


years of age, as lithe and graceful as a mountain 
pine, with a form primitively faultless. A ruddy 
complexion enriched by pure air and v;holesome 
sunlight relieved with a wealth of golden hair, 
which hung down her back in plaits, completed 
her natural adornments. In fashionable attire 
she would have been beautiful but, gaudily be- 
decked, as she was, in response to her untutored 
taste, she was a wonder. She wore a bright red 
dress trimmed with green ruffles, a purple sash tied 
in a large bow around her waist, and a yellow 
ribbon around her neck; while an antequated 
black straw hat, lavishly trimmed with immense 
red and yellow roses and blue ribbon streamers, 
constituted her head-gear, and set her off in ri’v'al- 
ry with the richly plumed birds of her native 
forest. 

“Who is that young lady ?” asked Henry. In- 
dicating by a look the girl just described. 

“That barfooted’n ?” inquired Sexton. 

“Yes.” 

“W’y that’s Rose Blodgett. She’s ole Meri- 
day Blodgett, ther bee hunter’s girl; an’ she’s 
given up ter be ther champion hoe-down dancer 
twixt hyre an’ Cumberland Gap.” 

“Why does she prefer to dance barefooted?” 

“ ’Taint no preference, hits natural. W’y bless 


36 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 


yer so'ul that girl never sot foot in shoe-luther in 
durin’ uv her life.” 

“Well I should think she would get splinters 
in her feet dancing barefooted on those roiigh 
boards.” 

“That’s cause ye don’t know’er. W’y ye 
couldn’t drive er nail in’er foot,” replied Sexton. 

“That’s strange,” ejaculated Henry. 

“Ye might think hits strange, but if ye knowed 
her daddy ye wouldn’t.” 

“What about her ‘daddy’?” asked Henry. 

“O’ nothin’, only he never had er shot, nur e* 
hat, nur er coat on in his life, an’ he’s seventy 
odd years ole,” explained Sexton, going on, “an’ 
he rambles eround through ther woods an’ scales 
these knobs, coursin’ bees, same ez er Ro.cky 
Mountain goat would, an’ nothin’s never fazed 
’im yet.” 

“Is he crazy?” 

“Crazy!” exclaimed Sexton in surprise, con- 
tinuing, “no, boy! best read man in ther county. 
Studied twenty years tO' be er lawyer but give hit 
up fer bee huntin’.” 

“Isn’t there danger oi his getting snake bit, 
going through the woods barefooted?” 

“Snake bit! ha! ha!” roared Sexton. “Well, 
not much ! Howsomever that reminds me, once 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


37 


he told me erbout er copperhead that tried ter bite 
’im. Ole Meriday wuz out er bee huntin’, an’, 
all at once, ez he v.cnt erlonp- through er patch 
uv blackberry briars, ‘spat’ somethin’ tuck ’im 
on ther heel. He kinder thought hit mout be er 
snake, an’ stopped an’ turned back ter see; an’ 
shore ’nuf, thar, all quiled up, under er bunch uv 
briars laid er whollopin’ big copperhead. Jist 
then er devilish streak possessed ’im, an’ he con- 
cluded ter have some fun out uv that snake. So 
he stuck his heel up right in that old copperhead’s 
face, an’ no sooner had he done hit than, ‘biff,’ 
went ther snake’s head er ginst ole Meriday’s 
foot. Meriday jist stood thar waitin’. Purty 
soon ole copper wuz squared fer action an’ 
‘whacked’ ole Meriday’s heel ergin. Meriday 
jist stood there, heel up, tantalizin’ that snake. 
After er little hit cut loose an’ struck his heel 
ergin. Thar stood ole Meriday, same ez before, 
heel up, waitin’, but no snake come this time.” 

“Why?” asked Henry. 

“ ‘Cause hit crawled off an’ died. Ole Meriday 
said hits brains wuz drove out through ther back 
uv hits head.” 

“Well by jupiter!” exclaimed Henry, “his heel 
must have been tough, but I don’t see ” 


38 IN THE SHADOW OF TiiE GUMBERLANDS. 

“Hello!” interrupted Sexton, “hyre comes ole 
Meriday now.” 

Henry turned and saw marching in front of 
the band, which was approaching, an old man, 
barefooted, bareheaded and coatless, wearing only 
a hickory shirt and cottonade pantaloons; (the 
latter being held in position by a pair of 
home knit yarn suspenders). Old Meriday 
walked in front of the musicians, directing them 
to the dancing platform. He carried a large 
book in his hand with which he beat time toi the 
music. Following the band came a parade made 
up of the leading business men of the village, 
some local politicians, the members of one or two 
secret orders, and several hundred spectators. 

Dancing was temporarily suspended, the plat- 
form was converted into a speaker’s stand, the 
band took its position in the rear, while the bench 
previously occupied by the blind fiddlers was re- 
moved to the front. When all arrangements were 
completed the band played “Suwanee River.” 
Old Meriday Blodgett then climbed upon the 
bench, carefully adjusted his spectacles, mopped 
his brow with his red bandanna handkerchief, 
and slowly and solemnly began reading The De- 
claration of Independence from the large book 
which he carried with him. When he had fin- 



“ It pointed to an overhanging cliff, 

THREE HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THEIR HEADS,” 



A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


39 


ished, the band amid the applause of the multi- 
tude rendered “America.” Following this, the 
leader of the band stepped to the front, accom- 
panied by a tramp printer, whose weight could 
not have exceeded one hundred and ten pounds, 
and whose age was doubtless no more than 
twenty-one years, while an abnormally developed 
head ornated with a superabundant crop of “foot- 
ball” hair formed his most predominating charac- 
teristic. This young man had been imported 
into the community for campaign purposes and 
given editorial charge of a defunct newspaper 
plant, which had become the property of a 
“prominent citizen” in exchange for his signature 
on a note. 

Notwithstanding this worthy journalist’s lim- 
ited residence in the community, scarcely six 
weeks, he had constructed imaginary railroads 
up every hollow in the county, bored oil wells 
along the river for twenty miles, borrowed sev- 
enty-five dollars from a local candidate, realized 
on a “string” of fake news a rod long “sent in” 
to the city dailies, while “other counties were 
yet to be heard from.” 

“Gentlemen and Ladies,” began the leader of 
the band, but was interrupted before he could go 
further, by a nudge from the young printer. 


40 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

After a little hesitancy, the musician resumed : 

“Ladies and Gentlemen here he halted, but 
not being’ interrupted went on. “It affords me 
unbounded pleasure tO' present to you a gentleman 
newly in our midst, but who comes highly recom- 
mended ; a man in character immaculately moral ; 
in intellectual capacities a giant, and, to our com- 
munity of inestimable worth. Those of you 
who have been fortunate enough to meet this 
gentleman know tO' whom I refer — know how 
true are my words, yet how inadequate. Those 
of you who have not known him will live to- ex- 
press your thankfulness for being brought within 
the sunlight of his glorious nature. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen : I present to you, J. 
Edward Linville, formerly one of Ohio’s noted 
journalists, at present editor of the Sandy County 
Scout. It is my pleasure toi say. Ladies and Gen- 
tlemen, that Mr. Linville will favor you with a 
few extempore remarks, relatively pertinent to 
this patriotic occasion, and directly helpful to 
every progressive and well thinking citizen of 
Sandy County. 

“I thank you.” 

The crowd set up a cry of “Linville ! Linville ! 
Give us Linville.” 

The Editor of the Scout mounted the bench. 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


41 


carelessly pitched his hat to one side, cast a half 
smoked cigarette back among the musicians, 
pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, raised his 
right hand above his head, brought it down to 
his side with a sweep, and launched upon his 
“few extempore remarks.” 

“Fellow Citizens of Sandy County, Kentucky, 
Cadies and Gentlemen : 

“It is not expected that I should stand before 
an assemblage so' vast, so intellectual, and not 
experience the forbidding fetters of embarrass- 
ment while yet burning in my ears is that eloquent 
commendation spoken in my behalf by our illus- 
trious band leader. 

“Fellow Citizens, my remarks will, of ne- 
cessity, be of a cursory nature. I will not strive 
by any flight of eloquence to flap my oratorical 
pinions against the blue firmament. Far from 
it; but, were it my ability I would weave into a 
poetical woof these sublime truths that lie at our 
very finger-tips. The pebbles we trod upon, the 
leaves over our heads, the forest trees, the brooks 
and hills, are fountains of eternal inspiration to 
the mind that can but compass them. 

“Friends, on this natal day of American 
Freedom, when seventy millions of people are 
paying homage to that sacred document so ably 


42 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLANDS. 


read by our own worthy Mr. Blodgett, one must 
feel the divine influence that brought forth from 
Patrick Henry those immortal words, ‘Give me 
Liberty, or Give me Death.’ In that single utter- 
ance, Fellow Citizens, lives the gist of American- 
ism. Every son of Sandy County possesses the 
same, I dare say, as abundantly as did ever Pat- 
rick Henry. ‘Breathes there the man with a 
soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, this 
is my own, my native land?’ ” (Shouts of “No! 
No! No!” here silenced the orator.) 

“Fellow Citizens,” he resumed, “while no liv- 
ing man is more desirous than I to keep aflame the 
star of patriotism, I fain would bring to your 
notice other things — things near and dear to our 
own fireside. In looking over the exhaustive 
subscription list of the Scout,” (three hundred 
names taken from the tax books) “I find that 
many of Sandy County’s sons are voluntarily 
exiled, some seeking wealth in the frozen gold 
fields of Alaska, others fighting for their coun- 
try’s cause on the battle-fields of Cuba, while 
others abide in every civilized country of the 
globe. 

“Do' you realize. Fellow Citizens, the pleasure 
it affords those dear ones — those sons, brothers, 
cousins, and, may I say sweethearts, of some of 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


43 


you? Do you realize, I ask, the joy of those 
dear ones, on finding the home-paper in their 
morning’s mail? Could there be anything more 
desired, more gladly received by a boy thousands 
of miles from friends and home? 

“Furthermore, friends, consider what it means 
to have a factor soi potent as the Scout disseminat- 
ing germs of morality-, education and progress 
over this valley fifty-two consecutive times per 
annum. 

“The Scout is no ordinary sheet, I am proud 
to say. Countryman, hear me! The Scout is a 
six column folio, patent outside, four columns of 
associated plate, two of sheared editorials, two 
of local ads, two o-f home-news, two of chained- 
lighting. What more could be desired? Vivat 
Scotus. 

“Could the Scout have cast her search-light of 
civilization over Sandy County for the past twen- 
ty years where would it be to-day ? But why dis- 
cuss the past, when present contingencies so 
urgently demand our consideration ? 

“Fellow Citizens, pardon me, if a personal ref- 
erence here should sound egotistical, but I would 
have it known that I have sacrificed a future full 
of gilded prospects, a life of ease and luxury, to 
come among you — to be one of you. For this I 


44 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 


seek no- praise, ask no compensation save a mere 
pittance; but, friends, from^ a soul overflowing 
with sorrow I admit the existence of some, not 
so magnanimous as myself. To' be plain, in 
yonder express office, famishing for liberty, lays 
a bundle of news-paper upon which the Scout 
must necessarily appear. The Express Company's 
worthy agent refuses to part with said shipment 
until six dollars and forty-five cents has been paid 
unto him. 

“Friends, it is good tO' talk of patriotism but 
glorious to demonstrate it. That privilege is 
yours by saving from an untimely death the most 
red-hot moral agitator west of the Blue Ridge 
Mountains. In furtherance thereof I have here 
a number of souvenir cards of this memorable 
occasion, which I will exchange for twenty-five- 
cent pieces. Each mementO' will entitle the hold- 
er to read the Scout for the next three months 
without the exigency of borrowing it. 

“Come forward. Gentlemen. Let us see who 
will be the first liberty loving citizen of Sandy 
County, Kentucky, tO' emblazon the Scout’s roll 
of honor. 

“I thank you one and all.” 

The stirring strains of “Dixie” blasted forth, 
and for the next quarter of an hour coins of all 


A KENTUCKY FOURTH. 


45 


denominations from nickles to half dollars liter- 
ally rained into the editor’s hands. The scene 
could be more fittingly compared to the rush made 
on the ticket wagon of the old-time circus when 
the “big show” is declared open, than anything 
else. 

The life of the Scout was saved. 

After this feature of the day’s enjoyment the 
crowd straggled about from one place tO' an- 
other, some going to see the fight between the 
panther and the bull dog, others to the hotel for 
dinner, others played the wheel of fortune, and as 
dancing was again resumed many sought this 
means of enlivening. 

The editor of the Scout was not again seen on 
the grounds until towards the close of the day 
when he reappeared in company with the band- 
leader. They came from the direction of the 
“blind-tiger” and walked arm in arm singing, 
“We won’t gO' home till morning.” Both were 
pretty well saturated with mountain dew. 

The editor no sooner arrived at the dancing 
platform than his chivalric spirit asserted itself, 
and nothing would pacify him short O'f a cotil- 
lion with Ro'se Blodgett. She, good naturedly 
consented to dance with him. At a turning point 
in the set the editor was led to the edge of the 


46 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 


platform by two of the ladies, who, by a concerted 
action suddenly let him go. He landed on his 
]>ack in the creek, that flowed at the rear of the 
platform. Everybody greatly enjoyed the joke, 
but none more than J. Edward Linville, himself, 
who declared he fully realized “the expedient to 
a good time.” 

The glorious Fourth finally wore away. Henry 
had by no means been idle during the day for in 
the language of the bee hunter, “he’d struck a 
course.” 

Rose Blodgett and Old Meriday had departed 
for home, so had most of the others. No where 
could be heard the patent medicine man’s husky 
croak. The editor of the Scout and the band- 
master lay in an intoxicated condition in the 
woods near the “blind-tiger,” the editor singing 
with all his lung capacity, the musician trying 
to inject morphine into his arm with a hypc>- 
dermic needle, to “quell him aleetle.” Drunken 
men rent the air with their delirious yells, fired re- 
volvers and cursed the town marshal who had 
long since been carved into a bleeding mass and 
taken home to die. 


CHAPTER V. 


A TALK IN THE DARK. 

S Sexton and Henry were on their 
way home, late that night, Henry re- 
marked : 

‘T did not see Mr. Medley in town 
or anywhere on the grounds to-day. I thought 
you said he clerked in his father’s store.” 

“He does, but, public days he finds better em- 
ployment.” 

“What at?” asked Henry. 

“I haint mench’nun no names ; taint no use fer 
er hound to call er cur, ‘dog,’ but ergin ye’r in 
these hills sixty y’ars I calcurlate ye’ll conclude 
thet all devils haint fiddlers nur all preachers 
haint saints.” 

“I don’t understand what you are alluding to,” 
replied the detective innocently, “but, from what I 
have heard I naturally came to the conclusion 
that Mr. Medley would one day be a great man 
in Sandy County, if not in the whole valley.” 




48 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


“Thar’s whar ye’r left ; ye’r d badly out uv 

hit; he’ll never ’mount ter nothin’; ’taint in ’im, 
his head’s ez empty ez er beer tub when er reve- 
nue man’s er round.” 

“He is a nice looking fellow.” 

“So’s er skunk, but devlish pore company.” 

“You don’t seem to be very much in love with 
him.” 

“No, I’m not; he's too d handy with his 

gun; dangerous ez er charge uv dynermite, too.” 

“Ever kill anybody ?” 

“Two, thet I know uv, but I’ve hearn thar 
wuz four notches on his gun barrel.” 

“How, self defence?” asked Henry. 

“No, bushwacked ’em. He haint got ther 
nerve ter stand up, face to face, an’ shoot ; thet’s 
the reason I hate ther unprincipled sneak.” 

“I’m surprised ; he has the appearance of a gen- 
tleman.” 

“Yes,” said Sexton, “but ye can’t tell nothin’ 
’bout er tree by ther names cut in ther bark; 
many er good lookin’ saplin’ has er bad heart.” 

They walked on in silence. Sexton seemed to 
be in a deep study, occasionally clearing his 
throat as if to broach some subject, but still hesi- 
tating. Finally he cleared his throat vehemently 
and said : 


A TALK IN THE DARK. 


49 


“Thogmartin, yeVe been with us nigh onter 
three months an’ I haint seed nothin’ shady 
outin ye yet. Ye may be er deserter, an’ all thet, 
but ye haint nO' sneak. Ole Tobe’s had his eyes 
on ye when ye never dreampt he wuz in er mile uv 
ye, but he’s alus found ye full weight. Now, 
I’m goin’ ter say ter ye what I haint never said 
ter no man since fher bloody days uv ther rebel- 
lion: Ez long ez ther’s er meal’s vituls in my 
house I’ll divide with ye! Ez long ez ther’s er 
catridge in my rifle, an’ er finger able ter pull ther 
trigger Ole To-be ’ill protect ye, my boy.” 

^‘We’re sumthin erlike,” he continued, “ther 
Revenue men would like ter hev Sexton sot his 
foot in ther trap; but he’s too sharp fer ’em, an’ 
I low they’d be powerful glad ter lay eyes on ye 
ergin; but ef ye stick ter ole Tobe ye’r safe ez er 
bank cashier in Canada; an’ ter make er long 
story short, I’ve er propersitio-n ter make ye, ef 
ye’r agreeable, in course I don’t spect ye ter ’cept 
hit, lessen ye feel like hits ter ye’r edvantage.” 

Henry, after a little hesitation, replied : 

“Well, Mr. Sexton, in view of all the kindness 
you have shown me and what you have just said, 
you could hardly make a reasonable proposition 
that I would not agree to” — without waiting for 
him to continue the old man commenced : 


50 IN THE SHADOW OF THE 0UMBERLAND8. 

“I thought not, suh, w’y by fury, I kin tell er 
man every time, thet’s got the right stuff in ’im. 
How’d ye like ter learn counterfitin’ ?” 

“I don’t know,” answered Henry, “is it dan- 
gerous ?” 

“No, unlesson ye spill ther hot metal on ye.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that, I had reference toi the 
law,” quickly responded Henry. 

“Wall, not so much, ef yer right peart,” said 
the old man. 

“Well, I’ll risk it, once, if I lose.” 

“Thogmartin, ez long ez ye’r faithful ter Sex- 
ton ye’r safe; but, remember this, ez sure ez thet 
panther screams on yander mountain, so' sure will 
death claim ye ef ye ever betray him.” 

They came to a turn in the road ; an old house 
rose up out of the darkness ; a tiny light flickered 
in one of the windows; some deep voiced dogs 
bayed and lunged against the kennel door ; an old 
rooster out in the hen-house proclaimed the hour 
of mid-night. The old man being anxious to get 
to bed, the conversation terminated for the pres- 
ent. 



Moonshiners Dropping a Detective into the “Lower Regions.” 




♦ > 






I - # i X ^ ' ' * 






CHAPTER VI. 


LADY AND MLDLKY QUARREL. 

LACKBERRY picking season had 
arrived and the Sextons were early 
astir. Aunt Mandy Sexton had en- 
gaged in the town of Levica, one hun- 
dred and fifty gallons, and besides, had contracted 
with the local dentist, to pay in blackberries for 
a “full set uv store teeth,'’ as she expressed it. 
Some people unacquainted with Aunt Mandy, 
might consider this a big undertaking for one wo- 
man, but had they known her as did the citizens of 
Sandy County, they would not have doubted her 
capacity tO' fill the contract. It was generally 
conceded that she could pick more blackberries 
in the same length of time, than any five people 
that ever went a “berry in” in the Sandy valley. 

Henry was put to delivering the berries. He 
used a two-wheeled ox cart, the bed of which held 
twelve three gallon pails, which were filled and 
taken to town twice a week. On one of these 



52 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

trips Henry exchanged his watch for a fine violin, 
which he presented to Lady as a birthday 
present. The evening following the presentation 
of the violin Critendon Medley called. Lady, 
little dreaming of what trouble her action would 
bring, hastened to show Medley the violin, saying : 

“See what a nice birthday present Mr. Thog- 
martin gave me?” 

He took the instrument, turned it over indif- 
ferently and handed it back to her without a 
word. 

“Don’t you think it real nice?” she continued. 

“Uh-hu,” he grunted. 

“Well, arn’t you glad he gave it to me?” she 
urged. 

“I s’pO'Se I am, but I don’t like to have this 
Thogmartin flaunted in my face every time I come 
here,” he suddenly growled. 

“Why, you’r not jealous are you? He is like 
a brother to me, and I think no more of accepting 
a present from him than I would from father.” 

“Where did this fellow who steps into a family 
circle a stranger and takes the place of a brother, 
come from?” he demanded. 

“I don’t know where his home is, he just came 
here one day and since then he has been as one 
of our family,” replied the girl. 


LADY AUD MEDLEY QUARREL. 


53 


“How did he happen to come and what’s his 
business in Sandy County?” Medley inquired 
with more interest. 

“If ril tell will you promise to keep it a se- 
cret?” she asked; but, had she known what effect 
that question would have on those who were 
dearest to her, she never would have asked it. 
How often an innocent girl by a slip of the tongue 
betrayed the one whom she loved the best. It 
was no less in this instance. 

“Of course I won’t say anything about it,” he 
easily prevaricated. 

“Mr. Thogmartin is a deserter from the army 
and came here for safety, and I hope they will 
never find him,” said she, her eyes filling with 
tears ; this, Medley observed and in subdued anger 
wrung his hands, and rubbed their palms together 
until they were, doubtless, as warm as his blood, 
which to judge from the color of his face at that 
moment, must have been boiling. 

“A de-ser-ter,” he said contemptuously, “then 
that’s the kind of ‘cattle’ you take into your fam- 
ily, is it, and claim a sister’s affection for?” he 
continued with a sneer. 

The tears faded from the girl’s eyes ; an angry 
gleam had supplanted them ; and, with a haughty 
toss of her pretty head she retorted : 


54 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLANDS. 


“If he is cattle, he is not the scrubby, moun- 
tain pea vine nipper, Mr. Medley — he’s blue grgss 
stock” 

This shot went home; Medley was very sensi- 
tive on the subject of being a mountaineer; but 
the insinuation that he was a vine nipper/’ 
harrowed his very heart, and with jealousy rank- 
ling in his breast he walked back and forth across 
the gallery, rubbing his hands more than ever. 
Finally he turned, and giving Lady a defiant look 
exclaimed: “Lady, you are false to me! you 
know you love this deserter!” 

The girl had never, in her most romantic imag- 
ination, considered Henry in the light of a lover ; 
but the imputation was so unexpected that it 

brought the blood rushing to her face her 

cheeks fairly aflame. She was so angry that 
discretion had no place in her thoughts, and dis- 
regarding the effect her words would have, she 
acted very unwisely. 

“Critendon Medley, you are a jealous fool!” 
she cried, “I’m glad you showed your hand before 
it was too late.” 

Lady was very indignant as she stood, ner- 
vously tapping her heel against the floor, and 
looking off toward the tall pines on the moun- 


LADY AND MEDLEY QUARREL. 


56 


tain crest. He took off his hat, scratched his 
head nervously, hesitated a moment and said : 

“Lady, let’s end this quarrel. I'll get the license 
and bring the preacher over tomorrow and have 
it over with, what do you say?” His manner 
showed decided meekness as he awaited her 
answer. 

“I say no!” exclaimed Lady, “I’d as leave 
marry Satan, expecting to keep out of torment.” 
His meekness had encouraged her ; she was in no 
mood to relent; all her womanly contempt for 
narrowness in men asserted itself and with queen- 
ly dignity she stood awaiting the effect of her last 
throw. 

Medley replaced his hat, passed his hand over 
his brow, and stared at the ground in silence. It 
was plain to see that he was agitated. 

Out in front of them in the yard a turkey 
gobbler strutted, and raked his wings against 
the ground, and in his lordly glory gobbled so 
loudly that an old hen cackled excitedly to her 
brood of young ducks and hurried with them 
into safer quarters. 

“Lady,” said Medley, menacingly, “you’ll rue 
this day’s work, and wish a thousand times you 
had back what you’ve said to me.” 


56 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


'‘Ah, a threat — a coward’s weapon,” she said 
scornfully. 

Medley without replying, turned and walked 
dejectedly to the gate; mounted his horse; gave 
it a sharp cut with his riding whip and galloped 
away. Lady stood watching him until he dis- 
appeared, then with her head held high she walked 
into the house, accidently turning a chair over 
just as Aunt Mandy came in from the kitchen. 
The old woman without noticing Lady’s agitation 
exclaimed : 

“Not this year, Missie! No marryin’ fer ye 
fer enuther twelve mont’s; hits er never failin’ 
sign, honey; W’y wusn’t Sis Patton ingaged ter 
er fine young man an’ didn’t she turn er chair 
over an’ lose ’im slick ez er button? W’y in 
course she did.” 

Lady was in no mood to be teased and the 
good humored jest of her aunt which was in- 
tended to amuse, had the opposite effect. The 
girl sank into a chair and gave way tO' her emo- 
tions. Her aunt, thinking Lady was affected by 
her joke, sought to pacify her. 

W’y bless ther heart uv ye honey,” she went 
on, “yer ole aunt didn’t mean er word uv hit. 
W’y laws hev mercy, chile, ther haint nothin’ in 
signs, an’ sech, no how ; don’t take on so, land uv 


LADY At^D MEDLEY QUARREL. 


57 


liberty, don’t ye know er girl what's purty ez ye 
air can marry at ther drap uv ther hat, an’ not 
half try. W’y Sis Patton married three times 
twixt January an’ July an’ wuz er grass wider 
thet cornin’ Fall.” 

“I don’t want to marry,” sobbed the girl. 

“Well what under ther Lawd Almighty’s 
heavens ails ye then, honey ?” 

“Crit Medley is jealous O'f Henry and went 
away mad.” 

“Well, I hope ter God, he’ll stay erway — ther 
very idee! who’s he, ter be spunkin’ up kaze ye 
happened ter look at some’n else ? He’s no manner 
er count, nur wuz his father er fore ’im. I 
knowed ’em every last one, an’ hit wouldn’t 
s’prise me ter see Mr. Grit yanked any minit fer 
what he’s done already. The Devil’s huntin’ 
kinlin’ wood right now ter bile ’im over. W’y 
taint no use talkin’, that man would commit 
murder fer er hound purp. Hit’s dogs fust, an’ 
dogs last with er Medley. Grit’s grandaddy up 
an’ traded off ther last milk cow on ther place 
fer er fox-hound, an’ erbliged his own young’n 
what wuz on er bottle, ter wean hitself er starve. 
Heavens knows I’d rather see ye buried in er 
muddy grave yard on er rainy day, than ter see 
ye marry Grit Medley.” 


58 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

Lady brushed the tears from her cheeks and 
meditatively said : “He threatened Henry.” 

“I lay he’s mean ernuf ter do hit ; but he knows 
yer pap tooi well fer ter harm Henry. He knows 
Tobe could put ’im whar they don’t ‘bush-whack 
revenues,’ ef he so much ez crook his finger.” 

“Who bush-whacked revenue men?” asked 
Lady in surprise. 

“I haint menchnun no names; but I lay if he 
hadn’t been so' handy with his Winchester them 
two revenues what wuz killed, down ther road 
yander, last summer, would hev been enjoyin’ 
good health this minit.” 

“My God! Aunt Mandy, is that true?” ex- 
claimed Lady holding to the chair for support. 
She had no' idea that Medley was so bad a man. 
They had been playmates before she went away 
from the mountains. She had always 
remembered him as her boy sweetheart, and dur- 
ing her vacations which were spent at home, his 
calls were welcomed and his love encouraged. 
But, after all her dreams, she must watch her 
cherished fancies fade and the blood-stained soul 
of a murderer take their place. It was a terrible 
shock and she reeled under it, but there was no 
place for a murderer in her heart. 


LADY Al^D MEDLEY QUARREL. 


59 


The old woman noting the agitated look on the 
girl’s face hesitated to answer. Lady looked at 
her imploringly and again asked : 

“Aunt, is it really true?” 

“Ez true ez gospel, my child! I knowd hit 
would hurt ye ter hear hit, an’ I’ve dreaded, 
these many days, ter tell ye, but, — 

At this moment, the detective who had over- 
heard most of their conversation, stepped into the 
room breaking np this conversation, which, 
doubtless, would have brought to light more of 
Medley’s dark character. The old woman re- 
marking, “hits nigh onter grub time,” went into 
the kitchen leaving Henry and Lady alone to- 
gether. 


CHAPTER VII. 


BUZZARD ROOST GULCH. 

ENRY had been wishing for an oppor- 
tunity to tell Lady how much he 
loved her. Ever since Medley had 
aroused his jealousy, he had been 
hovering between love and duty ; he had censured 
himself for being soi weak as to fall in love with 
this girl ; he had tried to harden his heart against 
her. He would develop the few hidden parts of 
his clue, then say farewell to the mountains ; this 
he had decided time and again to do ; but one look 
from those eyes, one smile from those lips and all 
his fine resolutions went glimmering; and once 
more he would find himself kneeling at her shrine, 
shivering, cold, feezing to death, for one spark 
of her love. Now, here was the opportunity he 
had longed for; but, she was so distant, so sad, 
he could find no encouragement ; his warm words 
of love had frozen in his throat; he could not 
give utterance to them. “Ah, the violin,” he 




BUZZARD ROOST QULGH. 


61 


thought, ‘ 'music will warm her soul and light her 
heart with love/’ 

He handed her the violin, the one that 
had caused so much trouble, and asked 
her to play. She pulled the bow across the 
strings with a graceful movement that thrilled 
him, but from the instrument there came a wail 
of grief, a tone of sadness, the most pathetically 
wierd melody he had ever heard. Every note 
was grief laden, every tremor told of sorrow. 
Henry felt keenly the guilt of his perfidy. Was 
it the shadow of the coming doom that darkened 
the pure and happy life of this sweet girl, he won- 
dered. He was about to give up his purpose 
then and there and set about to restore to her 
eyes the light of gladness, to dispel from her heart 
those darkening shadows. When the piece she 
was playing was finished he would tell her all, 
beg her love, ask her to marry him, and if she 
consented they would go away, far from the 
melancholy mountains, out into' the gay and 
merry world ; but, if she refused him, then, come 
what might, it would all be alike tO' him, and the 
sooner his thread of life was snapped the better. 
But these somber thoughts were doomed to die 
unuttered; for as the last notes of that soul- 
agitating air died away, Sexton entered the room 


62 Iti THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAHD8. 


and engaged the detective in a conversation, 
which took up the remainder of the evening, 
resulting in Henry being persuaded to accept, at 
the close of the berry season, the position of 
“malt grinder” in Sexton’s illicit distillery. 

August came and with it the dry, hot days of 
summer. Whirlwinds chased each other up and 
down the dusty road. The blackberry crop had 
been reduced to a few straggling red ones, too 
sour for use, too indifferent to ripen. Henry had 
taken the last cart-load of Aunt Mandy’s berries 
to town late one afternoon and was slowly trudg- 
ing homeward, in a path by the roadside ; while 
his oxen were picking their way along the rocky 
creek-bed road. The ever hanging shadows were 
deepening intO' darkness. A brown thrush with 
an alarming rustle, fluttered across the ravine. A 
screech-owl sitting in an oak bush uttered a 
hideous cry, then flew away into the laurel 
thicket that shrouded the mountain sides which, 
like dismal walls, towered above the road. 

These gloomy surroundings awoke in Henry 
the slumbering fever of home-sickness and from 
memory’s store he drew a picture' — a family 
circle — far away: 

Yes, there on the lawn under the massive 


BUZZARD ROOST GULCH. 


63 


shade trees where he had played from infancy 
sat his mother, eagerly scanning the evening 
papers, was she searching for news of her boy? 
Yes, he knew she was, for never a word had he 
written home. He thought he saw a tear steal 
down her dear old cheek. He would write to 
her this very night, he said to himself, and turned 
his eyes away. They fell on his two sisters, one 
swinging in the hammock, the other reading a 
book; the vision was so real, so home like, that 
fancy bore to him the sweet perfume of the many 
flowers that bloomed in the old garden back of 
their stately residence in Baltimore. There, on 
the broad veranda, hanging to one of the columns 
was the bird cage, and in it he could see Bob, his 
mocking bird, caroling as gayly as its wilder 
brother did at mid-day in the laurel bushes along 
this gloomy highway. 

The oxen in a fright shied to the opposite side 
of the road, startling him from his revery, and 
crying, “Wo-ho, boys,” something caught his 
foot, he stumbled, and fell headlong into a snare 
of tangled barbed wire; the sharp points pricked 
his flesh in a hundred places, and in scrambling 
to free himself, he lacerated his hands ; he could 
feel the warm blood trickling down his fingers. 


64 IN TEE SHADOW OF TEE CUMBERLAND8. 


Rough hands were then laid hold of him and a 
man with a deep voice commanded : 

“Hurry with the rope, boys, we’ve got ’im.” 

Henry struggled to free himself, but was no 
match for his powerful adversary. 

Three other men rushed upon him, they lifted 
him from the wires and threw him flat on his back 
on the ground, then the man of the rough voice 
forced a gag into his mouth, bound his hands 
behind him with a rope, and thrust his head into 
a bag, which was drawn tight about his throat. 

“Git up, ye scoundrel,” the man commanded, 
continuing: “Ye thot ye wuz playin’ er powerful 
smooth game but ye’ll find out erfore ye return 
frum this ja’nt, thet ye’r small taters an’ not wuth 
diggin’.” 

Henry staggered tO' his feet. The man who 
had been talking gripped his arm tightly and half 
dragging him rushed away into' the laurel thicket, 
the others closely following. 

Aunt Mandy Sexton stood on the gallery for 
several minutes that evening, peering down the 
road, viewing intently some approaching object, 
the outlines of which were yet apparently indis- 
tinct. At length she sprang from, the porch and 
hurried toward the gate. She stood a moment, 
still looking down the highway. Lady was now 







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BUZZARD ROOST GULCH. 


65 


in the door watching her aunt. The old woman 
seemingly greatly troubled, turned toward the 
house, and seeing the girl cried : 

“Here’s ther oxen an’ cart but no driver. Whar 
on yearth d’ ye ’spose he is ?” 

Lady joined her aunt at the gate, and with con- 
cealed emotion, said : 

“Oh, he’ll be along in a little while, I guess.” 

“No, he won’t ;” said the old woman emphati- 
cally, “I’ve been watchin’ them crittersfer this last 
half hour, as they come brousin’ erlong up ther 
lane an’ I lay somethin’s happened ter him. If 
Tobe wuz here he could go and look fer ’im.” 

“Yes, but he is at the still, and will not be home 
until tomorrow evening. Oh, I do wonder what 
has happened to Henry !” exclaimed the girl. 

“I haint never er tellin’ ye, but I know’d this 
mornin’, when thet bird flew in ther house thet 
somethin’ dreadful wuz er goin’ ter happen ’fore 
long. W’y bless yer soul, didn’t er bird fly in 
an’ light on ther bed post ther very day Sis 
Patton died ?” 

Lady was thinking of Critendon Medley’s 
threat, and wondering if that had any bearing 
on Henry’s disappearance, and half breathing 
her thoughts aloud she asked : 

“Do you suppose any one has way-laid him 


66 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


“Well, there’s them ez is mean ernuf ter do hit, 
in this neighborhood. That makes me think,” 
went on the old woman excitedly, “uv er con- 
versation I over-heard t’other day, when I wuz 
blackberrin’ down yander at the mouth uv Buz- 
zard Roost gulch : Some men war talkin’ out’n 
ther road ; I stopped pickin’ an’ listened ; one uv’m 
said : 

“ ‘Here’ll be er good place, we could take ’im 
up Buzzard Roost an’ keep ’im till we get our 
reward;’ an’ I wuz er goin’ ter tell ye, but hit 
slipped my mind.” 

“My God!” exclaimed Lady, “what will we 
do? Of course, they meant Henry.” 

“Ther haint nuthin’ we kin do, an’ ther Lord 
only knows what’ll become uv ’im ef he’s in ther 
clutches uv thet Buzzard Roost gang. W’y, 
there’s not er man in hit thet wouldn’t murder er 
whole family fer a gallon uv whiskey,” replied 
Aunt Mandy dejectedly. 

“I know every tree, every rock, and every cliff 
up Buzzard Roost. I learned them years ago, when 
father was hiding there and I carried his meals 
to him,” said Lady with a look of hope and deter- 
mination lighting up her face, as she continued, 
“I will go this night and rescue Henry from that 


BUZZARD ROOST OULCH. 


67 


murderous band of outlaws !” she exclaimed with 
flashing eyes. 

“Ye, child! Ye, go er lone at night ter Buz- 
zard Roost cliffs? W’y ye’r foolish! Ye 
wouldn’t live ter git half way.” 

“You do not know me, aunt, I am determined. 
My father would go, were he here, and if the 
young man is worthy of my father’s aid, he is 
worthy of mine. I will go!” cried the girl. 

The old woman stood awe-stricken. 

The girl hurried to the house, took from a 
drawer a revolver; she then slipped into' her 
rubber storm coat and rushed to the kennel, un- 
locked the door and entered. 

The great beasts raved and lunged against their 
chains, but a kind word from her and they were as 
quiet as kittens on a hearth. 

She went directly to the largest, a most feroc- 
ious beast, the size of a lion, a mixture of blood- 
hound and wolf-hound. She snapped a lead-rein 
into- the dog’s collar, then released him from the 
chain. The creature cleared the door with a 
bound; but, a gentle command brought him to a 
standstill. She then locked the door and said : 

“Down the road, Dum, but not too fast.” 

Away they glided into darkness. Heavy 
clouds hung over head, and no moon or stars 


68 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

were visible. Down the road they rushed, the 
hound with his nose to the ground, his tail up and 
with that peculiar rolling motion led her onward 
into the creek-bed road. 

The dog went more cautiously now. They 
were nearing the mouth of Buzzard Roost gulch ; 
her dress caught on a briar, she stopped to loosen 
it and tore her fingers on the sharp beards of a 
barbed wire. She found a strip of cloth hanging 
to the barb; this she pressed tO' the dog’s nostrils. 

The hound gave a lunge and with a low whine 
darted into the laurel thicket, almost jerking her 
toi the ground. She tried to restrain him; his 
speed slackened some ; but he pulled swiftly 
ahead, half dragging her, as onward they went 
up the dreadful gulch. 

Once through the thicket the way was less 
difficult to follow. The dog led by the scent, soon 
found the main path to the cliffs. 

For an hour the journey was unbroken. The 
hound, at times, would rear up and try to free 
himself, so' anxious was he to forge ahead. He 
apparently knew the danger of delay, and was 
striving with all his might to convince his mis- 
tress of his opinion. 

Lady, spurred on by excitement, had under- 
taken this perilous search without considering the 


BUZZARD R008T GULOH. 


69 


great danger of it, now, that her emotions had 
subsided ; the darkness, the loneliness, the awful- 
ness of her venture began tO' crowd in upon her 
reason. Caution told her to' return ; but the 
eagerness of the dog led her on. 

The gulch was narrowing now. Rocks and 
logs impeded her progress ; the dog hesitated and 
jumped from one rock to another, as if about to 
lose the trail; saw-briars tore her tender flesh, 
and in jumping from a stone she strained her 
ankle. For a few minutes she was unable to go 
on; but, the soreness left after a little, and she 
hobbled onward. 

The gulch at this point terminated in a steep 
gully that extended up the mountain. 

Here it was necessary to begin a terrible ascent ; 
over fallen timbers, boulders, and through the 
heavy growth of underbrush. 

A hundred feet above was a semi-circle of 
cliffs and caverns. 

Lady could no longer walk erect; but was 
compelled to crawl and pull up by the shrubbery. 
She felt faint and tired and could go no further. 
For awhile she lay resting on the mountain side : 
the dog with his great red eyes turned on her, sat 
with lolled tongue, panting and whining impa- 
tiently. 


70 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

Turning her eyes heavenward, she breathed a 
silent prayer. 

The rashness of her act was dawning upon her, 
and fear beat furiously against her strongly for- 
tified walls of resolution. 

A large drop of water fell on her face, one of 
those harbingers of the long restrained summer 
rain, which knows no relenting until its fury is 
spent. A low rumbling sound followed by a 
flash of distant lightning played across the 
heavens ; a gentle breeze murmured through the 
pines ; out from a crag across the gulch, scarcely 
a hundred feet away, a panther screamed, one of 
those hair-raising shrieks, so human like that 
one instantly thinks of a mad-house. 

The hound sprang to his feet, tore up the de- 
clivity, pulling the girl, bodily, over the rough 
stones. She clambered after him, reeled and fell ; 
but caught on the point of an overhanging rock, 
and the next step brought her safely onto the 
ledge that circled the mountain in front of the 
first row of cliffs. She smoothed the dog’s hair 
and calmed him, then moved cautiously around 
the crag. 

The wind was now moaning through the spect- 
ral pines, which swayed back and forth, lapping 
their long arms against the rocks, making a dis- 


BUZZARD ROOST OULCH. 


71 


mal screeching* wail ; and, mingled with this came 
a far off deep roaring as of tossing billows. 
Nearer and nearer it came and louder and louder 
grew the appalling sound. A gleam of forked 
lightning leaped across the gulch, making a great 
flaming gash in the darkness, and illuminating 
the circle of gasping cliffs and reeling pines. A 
terrifying crash of thunder, following instantan- 
eously, shook the mountains and reverberated 
from crag to cliff, and finally died away, far down 
the gulch. 

Then with sudden vehemence, the long delayed 
rain came down in sheets, swayed by the fury of 
the blast which tore the stately pines from their 
footing and hurled them over the precipice like 
straws. 

Lady shrank back into one of the cliffs, the dog 
following. No sooner were they well under cover 
than the dog reared on his hind legs, growling 
and snapping at something perched on the shel- 
ving rocks at the back of the cavern. Then 
followed a rustling, fluttering, flopping noise, 
and a covey of turkey-buzzards, swarmed around 
the girl, striking her with their wings. They 
flew out into the night air, but the storm beat 
them back again. Flapping the enraged hound 
out of their way they huddled into the deep 


72 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


crevices of the shelving rocks. An indescribable 
nauseating odor, found only in a buzzards roost, 
poisoned the atmosphere to such an extent that the 
dog became stupefied and crawled to the entrance 
and greedily gasped the fresh air. The girl sat 
on a stone near by stroking his back. 

The rain unabated continued throughout the 
night; but at last the heralds of coming dawn 
chased the clouds away. The rain had slackened 
and the pure and wholesome air rustled among 
the leaves, while down the gulch the torrent 
swept tufts oif earth, stones and fallen timber, with 
a booming roar. 

The hound, ever impatient, not waiting for the 
rain to entirely cease, got up, shook himself and 
was out on the ledge sniffing the rocks in search 
of the trail ; but in perplexity he turned and ran 
here and there scenting the air in bewilderment 
and finally whining as if he had given up the trail 
looked at the girl imploringly. 

The rain had washed away the trail. Lady 
realized the situation and was trying to^ solve this 
new problem, when the dog with a low growl 
started on around the cliffs. She held him back, 
listening; she heard the murmur of voices, then 
approaching footsteps. She dragged the hound 
back into the cavern and making him lie down. 


BUZZARD ROOST OULCH. 


73 


held her hand over his mouth. He had been 
taught thus to lay low and quiet. As the foot- 
steps drew nearer and the voices more distinct, 
the dog trembled and tried to get up ; then, by the 
gray morning light, she saw two men pass, going 
toward the gulch. 

Waiting until they were beyond ear shot Lady 
again ventured out. The dog started in their pur- 
suit, but she turned him in the opposite direction ; 
whereupon, he took up the trail and was again 
guiding the girl on her perilous journey; and 
none too cautiously either; for excited by the 
freshness of the scent, the hound sped onward so 
swiftly that it was necessary for Lady to run to 
keep pace with him. 

As they rounded a protruding stone that nar- 
rowed the pass-way almost tO' the edge of the 
precipice, a loose rock was toppled over and went 
crashing through the tree tops below. 

Almost instantly a man came running from a 
cavern near by and with a terrific lunge the dog 
tore loose from the girl and went for him. On- 
ward the great beast pressed and before the sus- 
pecting victim was aware, he was borne down, and 
in the struggle that followed, was thrown over 
the precipice. 


74 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLANDS. 


Another man attracted by the noise ran out and 
not seeing the source of combat rushed beyond 
the do'g, which Immded after him, chasing the 
now thoroughly terrified wretch around the crag. 

Lady, seeing no one else emerge, glided into 
the cliff, there before her lay Henry bound hand 
and foot. She knelt at his side and tried to free 
him, but the ties would not yield to her heroic 
efforts. She wrung her hands and in desperation 
tore the gag from his mouth. 

“What must she do? Time was never more 
precious. The next moment might mean death 
to him, yes, and death to her, too; she would die 
now or save him,” these were her thoughts. 

“My God ! Look out !” cried Henry. 

Lady Sexton sprang to her feet. A horrifying 
sight confronted her : There, not forty feet 
away, came the man madly pursued by the dog. 
He held in his raised hand a large dangerous look- 
ing bowie knife. She scanned the cavern for a 
weapon, then thought of her revolver and grabbed 
for it. “Heavens! It is gone!” she groaned. 

The detective was rolling over and over, strug- 
gling to break his fetters, but was powerless to 
assist the brave girl. 

On came the man, he was making for his gun 
which leaned against the cavern wall. Lady, too. 


BUZZARD ROOST OULCH. 


76 


rushed for the weapon. It was a race for life, 
but she grasped the rifle first. The man was, 
now, not a rod away and charging at her. She 
threw the gun to her shoulder and fired. He 
reeled and with a groan fell at her feet. The 
knife flew from his hand and rattled on the stone 
floor; she grabbed it and with two powerful 
strokes severed the ropes and Henry Thogmartin 
was again free. 

“Come! Hurry!” cried he, “there are yet two 
other ruffians near ; we must avoid them.” With- 
out saying any more they cjuickly left the cliff, 
and were soon following a secret path that led to 
Sexton’s home. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 

EEP in the heart of one of those 
gigantic peaks of Sandy County, 
there is a cave; and, it was here that 
Sexton, on that eventful night, sat 
watching the crystal beads of apple-brandy, 
which, after their winding journey through the 
snake-like coils of the stillworm fell drop upon 
drop, into a copper measure. The sweet aroma 
of the new made liquor stole through the cavern 
with a lulling gentleness that soothed the old man 
into cheerful retrospection. Mechanically he, 
ever and anon, emptied the measure into a keg. 

Longer grew the interval between measures, 
and to hasten the lonely hours he filled his corn- 
cob pipe with natural leaf tobacco and lit it, then 
eagerly puffed great clouds of smoke out into the 
solitude, and blew them away intO' the dark re- 
cesses of the cave. 



SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


77 


More reluctantly the tiny drops chased each 
other from the worm, until their splash was like 
the draining eaves. 

Sexton yawned, rubbed his hand across his 
forehead and muttered : “Ther cat’s er bout dead, 
er nuther turn uv ther cup’ll finish this run.” 

Then, for awhile, he hovered along the gray 
crag-traced shore of consciousness, but gradually 
drifted further and further out intO' the sea of 
slumber, unmindful of the passing events of the 
outer world. 

There he sat and peacefully slept, ignorant of 
the beating rain and raging storm, the descending 
torrent, and, heavens knows, he was ignorant of 
that hazardous venture in which his only child 
was then braving the wilds and terrors of Buz- 
zard Roost cliffs. Who' knows but at that mo- 
ment she was lying faint upon the mountain, 
terror stricken by the panther’s cry, or holding 
the hound’s nostrils lest he betray her presence in 
the cliffs ; or, again, rushing on to do battle with 
a gang of outlaws that Sexton, himself, with all 
his courage would have flinched to face; but she, 
impelled onward by the turbulent current of pas- 
sion, would defy the terrors of a thousand deaths 
to rescue the man she loved. 

Now the musical murmur of the simmering 


78 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 


still only broke the silence of the cave ; the drip- 
ping brandy slid softly intoi the receiver ; the old 
man’s chin rested in his hand, his elbow on his 
knee, the pipe fell from his month. He slept. 
And, to him a vision came. 

First he traced the form of angels in the float- 
ing clouds of smoke; then a figure of perfect 
beauty and heavenly grace drew nearer, until from 
out of the vapor stepped a phantom, life-like and 
real. 

Had the wheels of time turned backward a half 
score years, they could have presented no truer 
likeness of his dear, dead wife. It was as if she 
stood there before him in the cave, beckoning him 
tO' follow her. Yes! it was she, as she had ap- 
peared years ago; arrayed in her dress of spotless 
calico, fitting neat as a pin, while down over her 
shoulders flowed her locks of raven black; but, 
the look of distress upon her face was strange to 
him. 

In fancy he arose and followed her across the 
mountains; through the Needle’s Eye pass, and 
down intO' the cliffs of Buzzard Roost gulch. On- 
ward the vision led until they stood at the foot of 
the great precipice; then, with arm extended, it 
pointed to an overhanging cliff, three hundred 


SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


79 


feet above their heads. He looked, and stood 
transfixed with horror. 

The sight froze his blood. As rigid as iron 
were his muscles, nor could he move. Yonder, 
clinging to a vine, and already over the brink by 
a yard, hung his little girl, her small dinner 
basket on her arm ; while, above her on the very 
edge of the rock a conflict for life was raging 
between a great angry panther and one of his own 
ferocious blood-hounds. The struggling beasts 
tore loose the vines that supported the child, and 
he thought he saw her fall, tumbling over and 
over, with the speed of a meteor down to hard 
earth. 

With a powerful effort Sexton broke away 
from the night-mare. The overwhelming influ- 
ence that had held him a horrified witness of that 
awful spectacle was gone. With a cry of agony 
he leaped to his feet and glared wildly around the 
cavern. He yawned, stretched himself and mut- 
tered:. 'T must hev been er sleep,” and rubbed 
his swollen eyes as if to determine whether he 
was awake or yet asleep. 

The still had long since boiled dry; the liquor 
had over-run the measure and his feet, soaking 
wet, stood in a pool of it. 


80 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


He was bewildered; but the dream troubled 
him most of all, and, in vain, he tried not to think 
of it. At last, with a start, he picked up his pipe, 
pocketed it, extinguished the fire beneath the still, 
emptied the measure, shouldered his rifle, and with 
a searching look around-about, to make sure 
that the phantom was not there somewhere hid- 
ing, he hastened from his retreat. As he hurried 
out he mused : 

“Thar’s nothin doin’ hyre. I mout ez well go 
home. I fear somethin’ dreadful’s happened.” 

As he came into the open air the first rays of 
the morning sun greeted him; the rain-drops on 
the leaves and blades of grass sparkled like dia- 
monds and a fresh and balmy gale waved the 
lacing bows over his head; but all the splendor 
of the scene was as far from his thoughts as the 
snow capped peaks of Siberia. 

A little farther along a gray squirrel clinging 
head down to the trunk of a chestnut tree, barked 
saucily at him and shook her fine gray tail in a 
desperate effort to attract his attention; but he 
heeded her not. At any other time, he would 
have hailed with delight such an opportunity to 
prove his dexterous marksmanship by snipping 
her nose with a bullet, just enough to draw blood. 




SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


81 


With a thousand ominous forebodings haunting 
his mind he hurried along; fancying at times that, 
his house was on fire ; then, the thoughts of sick- 
ness would harass his whirling brain. By the 
time he was half way home his speed had quick- 
ened until he was fairly in a run, so sure was he 
that some dreadful calamity had befallen him. 
Never were moments longer to a man! A run- 
ning briar which laid across his path caught his 
foot and tripped him ; his hat flew into the under- 
brush; but in an instant he was up and away 
again, unrrundful of his hat. 

At last the gable of his own home loomed in 
the distance, and the view, like a sucking whirl- 
pool, drew him madly onward across the fields 
and into the house. 

His sister not expecting him until night, sat 
half asleep, nodding, in a rocking chair where 
she had been all night worrying about Lady. 
The poor old soul was so exhaused by grief that 
she was in noi condition for a shock, and upon 
hearing him enter she turned quickly, and seeing 
him hatless, with his gun in his hand she gave a 
sharp scream, lurched from the chair, and fell full 
length on the floor in a dead faint. 

The old man stood aghast looking at her. He 
tried to collect his scattered wits. He raised her 


82 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS, 


tO' the chair, slapped her face, and bathed her tem- 
ples in camphor. 

She opened her eyes and with a startled look 
began crying and waving her hand, shouting : 

“I couldn’t help hit ! Don’t tell me she’s dead ! 
She would goi! Merciful God, save ther child!” 

Sexton in great agitation exclaimed : 

“Gone whar? Tell me quick! I know noth- 
in’ uv her. My dream! My dream! Oh, my 
child ! Good God, whar is my daughter ?” 

“Yander, ter Buzzard Roost Gulch! She went 
last night ter hunt Henry Thogmartin, who was 
kidnapped by some’n, ther devil only knows 
v/ho!” the old woman shrieked. 

Sexton, without waiting to hear more, grabbed 
his rifle, and with his white hair waving in the 
wind tore from the house and hastened towards 
the cliffs. As he hurried through the thicket of 
laurel along the secret path, he, all of a sudden, 
met his daughter and the detective as they fled 
homeward from Buzzard Roost Cliffs. Then, 
the girl who had withstood the trials of that 
awful night ; who^ had with the dauntless courage 
of a lion rescued her lover from a band of out- 
laws; and, who had with an unerring aim saved 
her own life; the girl who' had done all these 
heroic things now, when all danger was over, and 


SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


83 


she stood under the protecting arm of her father, 
true tO' her womanly instinct, gave way to her 
emotions. 

“Oh, father! father!” she hysterically cried, 
and throwing her arms about his neck clung to 
him, until she fell limp and unconscious in his 
embrace. 

Sexton bore the girl to the house and with sim- 
ple restoratives brought her back to conscioiis- 
ness; but the great shock to her nerves was so 
severe that she recuperated very slowly. 

The neighbors were soon apprised of her ill- 
ness and she received the best attention that the 
kindest people in the world — “the rude mountain- 
eers” — could offer. 

A physician was summoned from Levica. He 
reported that she was in an extremely critical 
condition, but with perfect quietness and rest, he 
thought she would soon be out of danger. 

That night Henry and Sexton sat in a closely 
blinded room. The detective gave the old man a 
complete account of all that had happened. Sex- 
ton was silent for a while, then arose and paced 
the floor excitedly ; finally he turned facing Henry 
and said 

“Hell’s broke loose ergin! but I tole ye, boy, 
I’d stand by ye, an’ I’m goin’ ter do hit, but de- 


84 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


scree-shin is ther better part in valor. Them damn 
scoundrels’ll wear holes in ther ground whar they 
lay erlong ther road waitin’ ter git er shot at ye. 
I don’t know what they want ye fer; but this 
much I do know : ye’r carcas won’t hold shucks 
ef them’ ar’ bush-whackers git er crack at ye, with 
er ‘Winchester.’ Ye ain’t safe but at one place 
in these knobs, an’ that’s at my still.” 

Some one came to the door and called Sexton 
out. He returned in a few minutes in a more 
cheerful manner and said : 

“Ther doctor hes come ergin, an’ says Lady’s 
better.” Without giving Henry time to reply, 
he continued : 

“Ye must leave hyre ter night, taint safe fer 
ye ter stay hyre even an hour. I’ll take ye ter 
ther still an’ ye can stay thar an’ work till things 
cam down er leetle; fer when them Buzzard 
Roost Hell-Cats find them two* uv their gang 
thet’s dead, up thar in ther cliffs, an’ ye gone, 
they’ll raise h — ’round hyre. So' ther best thing 
fer all parties consarned, ez fer ye ter be absent 
fer er while. I’ve killed six uv ther click, al- 
ready, an’ I’m gettin’ old an’ don’t want ter shed 
no more blood till I die. They ar’ liable ter come 
hyar ter-night, but, on Lady’s ercount, I hope 
they won’t.” 


SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


85 


“If they should come, what could we do?"’ 
asked Henry. 

“W’y, boy, they wouldn’t last ez long ez er 
snow-ball in h — ef they did. My friens ar’ lain’ 
eroun’ this hyre house, this minit thick ez punkins 
in er patch.” 

A silence followed, which was broken by the 
detective, who said : 

“Mr. Sexton, I don’t want you to take any risk 
for me. I will leave your house to-night and 
take my chances. I do' not intend to have you 
and your family risk your lives for me. Your 
daughter has already suffered too much. It is 
best that I should leave. These outlaws will not 
trouble you when I am gone, and you can live in 
peace again. I would lay down my life for any 
of you, but I would not want you to risk as much 
as one of your gray hairs for me. I will go.” 
With this he got up and started toward the door. 

The old man arose and placed his hands on 
Henry’s shoulders and looking him squarely in 
the eyes said : 

“Thogmartin, I like yer sentiments an’ re- 
spect ye’r grit, but. I’ve er d — pore erpinion uv 
ye'r judgment. When Sexton is yer frien’ he’d 
die fer ye. I love ye like I dO' my pore leetle gal 


86 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CVMBERLANDS. 

Ill yander in ther bed, an’ when ye leave this 
house ril gO' with ye.” 

The door opened and Aunt Mandy Sexton 
came into the room with a pair of home made 
linsey blankets rolled into a. bundle and tied with 
a strip of red calico. The old woman was trying 
with all her might to suppress her emotions, but 
on seeing Henry she boiled over and between 
sobs said : 

“Hyre—honey— take— these blankets. They’ll 
keep ther rumatix outin ye’r bones, God knows 
yer Aunt Mandy don’t want ye ter hev ’em.” 

‘‘Mandy! My stars Mandy! Do ca’m ye’r 
self. This aint no funeral,” said Sexton. 

The old woman braced herself a little and said : 

“Now Tobe Sexton, ye know thet child haint 
used ter sleepin’ ’thout no' kiver an’ he’d be er 
snap fer ther rumatix; hits alus lookin’ fer some 
shinin’ mark ter take off, an’ thets ther reason I 
fotch them blankets. W’y thar’s nothin’ like lin- 
sey blankets ter keep off rumatix. Didn’t Sis 
Patton take down with inflamation rumatix, an’ 
nuthin’ud do ’er any good but linsey blankets, an’ 
I tole ’em so at ther fust start an’ ” — 

“Come on Thogmartin,” broke in Sexton, 
“Mandy’ll be standin’ hyre talkin’ linsey blankets 
till doom’s-day, if we listen ter ’er. We kin slip 


SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


87 


out an’ git ter ther still ’thout bein’ seen ef we ar’ 
quick er bout hit. Git ther blankets an’ come 
cn.” 

Sexton stepped through the door. The woman 
held out her hand to Henry, and with tears 
streaming down her kind old face, said : 

Henry, tell me good bye. I may never see ye 
ergin, hit brakes my pore old heart ter see ye go.” 

The detective took her hand and she gave him 
a parting grasp that told of a deep, motherly af- 
fection too plainly to be mistaken. 

They followed Sexton intOi the adjoining room, 
— the one in which Lady lay sick. She was 
asleep. 

“Wait till I go up stairs an’ git some cater- 
iges,” Sexton whispered. The old woman fol- 
lowed him out. 

As Henry stood waiting, the soft moon-light 
stole through the open window and fell in pretty 
dapples over Lady’s bed. A flood of it lit up her 
sweet face — pale and tranquil — a face as pure as 
the moonlight itself, but more like the visage of 
an angel than of a living creature, he thought. 
How different, too, her now peaceful beauty from 
that brave defiance, of the struggle at the Cliff. 
Animated then with all her earthly fire, she was a 
magnificent specimen of the most glorious living 


88 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


creature — woman — but now, wrapped in peace- 
ful slumber, she was a dream of glory. 

“What if she should die to-night, and I could 
never again see her lovely eyes aglow with life?” 
he mused. The thought tore away the bonds of 
emotion and, like a torrent that carries everything 
before it, the surging tide of love overswept his 
reason, drowning every thought but one : 
“What if she should die to-night?” It was more 
than he could bear. How could he leave her 
without a word ; without a look ; without a touch 
of her hand ? The mere thought of the touch of 
her hand thrilled him. He looked at her again 
and fancied he saw a faint smile flit across her 
pallid countenance. That inexplicable influence, 
more of the spiritual than intellectual being, pos- 
sessed him and seemed to say : 

“You are going away from her; you may 
never again, in life, look upon that calm, sweet 
face. Can you leave her without some little 
token of affection ? Can you, after all, leave her 
without some sign of love?” 

“No!” he muttered, almost aloud. “I’ll touch 
her hand before I go.” And with a quick, soft 
step he crossed the room and stood by her bed. 
Her hands lay exposed across her bosom; he 
stooped to touch them ; he felt her warm breath 


SEXTON HAS A DREAM. 


89 


upon his face; the room went round in a whirl; 
an angel stroked his hair; the world, like a great 
ball of trouble floating in a sea of bliss, drifted 
away from him:; a delicious intoxication trans- 
formed a second of life into an age of heaven. 
Their lips touched. The world drifted back. 

A moment later Sexton entered, bringing a 
couple of rifles. Handing one of the guns to 
Henry he beckoned him on, and with noiseless 
steps they left the house. Henry breathed a sigh 
as he took a farewell look through the window, 
where the moon-light stole. 


CHAPTER IX. 


OVER Satan's eeap. 

N their journey they hurried. It was 
a long, dismal, winding path through 
a lonely forest, up the side of a 
dark steep mountain to a limestone 
crag, at its crest. They went along this crag 
until they came to a small crevice, in the wall of 
limestone, scarcely large enough to permit a man 
to squeeze through. Over them, hanging in the 
crevice, suspended by two small corners, swung 
a tall flat stone of stupendous weight. Once 
through the crevice, they emerged into a broad 
wooded plateau, known as The Chestnut Flat, 
where for miles around flourishes unmolested by 
the woodman’s ax, a primeval forest of giant 
chestnut trees. On and on, deeper and deeper, 
into this grove of chestnuts they went. No 
longer could they hear the night hawk’s cry of 
alarm, or the wild cat’s scream; only the sad, 
sweet music of the wind, murmuring through the 




OVER 8 AT AW S LEAP. 


91 


chestnut boughs broke the stillness of the wilder- 
ness. 

At last they came to a halt. Sexton drew a 
black cloth from his pocket, and turning to the 
detective said : ^ 

“Now, Thogmartin, I hev ter blindfold ye. I 
never take er man ter ther still open eyed, lessen 
he’s been tried an’ found sound clean ter ther 
heart.” 

After blindfolding Henry, the old man led him 
on across The Chestnut Flat, and up a mountain 
toward the summit of a solitary peak. Onward 
they trudged, higher and higher, till the air in a 
cold, sweeping draught fanned their faces. 

Then as mysterious as a phantom, Henry was 
roughly seized by the shoulders and a deep voice 
demanded : 

“Who persumed ter wander up Shiner’s Peak, 
at ther dead hour uv night?” 

Sexton: “A child uv ther outer world, what 
seeks more knowledge uv ther buried mysteries 
uv ther inner y earth.” 

The voice: “An’ hes he ther solemn pass- 
word ter ther Shiner’s Abode?” 

Sexton : “No, but seein’ ez how he ez quali- 
fied, I pray ye ter pass him on.” 

The voice: “What qualification has he?” 


92 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


Sexton : '‘He's er sympathizer uv our cause; 
handy with er gun; er deserter uv ther New N it ed 
States army, an' er d — good tiddler." 

The voice: “Ex’elen, most ex’elen! proceed 
with ther candidate.” 

Sexton led Henry on until they came to the top 
of a cliff, here a second sentinel challenged them, 
saying : 

“In ther name uv ther Dixie Shiners, Cave No. 
432, uv Sandy County, Kaintucky, I demand ye 
ter advance an’ give an ercount uv yourself.” 

Sexton, (advancing) : “Most Noble Shiner, 
I fotch ter ye er child uv ther outer world what 
desires ter be drapped into ther Lower Regions 
fer ter larn more uv our glorious prefeshun.” 

Second voice: “Ar’ he er worthy cander- 
date?” 

Sexton : “Most worthy, my Noble Shiner.” 

Second voice: “What worthy deed has he 
done fer our cause?” 

Sexton: “Deserted from ther New Nited 
States army.” 

Second voice: “Worthy, most worthy. Noble 
Guide. Ye hev my permission ter pass him on 
ter ther brink uv ‘Satan’s Leap,’ whar he will be 
fixed an’ drapped.” 

Sexton conducted the detective on to the edge 


OVER SATAW8 LEAP. 


98 


of the cliff. The moon threw its great yellow 
light over the mountain, bringing out with stupe- 
fying vividness the awful specter that was passing 
on the brink of Satan’s Leap. 

Four stout, short men, wearing black masks, 
advanced carrying a large coil of rope. One of 
them, seemingly the leader, stepped forward and 
laying his hand heavily on Henry’s shoulder, 
spoke in a deep monotonous voice: 

“Podner, ye ar’ now standin’ on ther sacred 
rock known ez Satan’s Leap. Ye ar’ about ter 
take ther fust degree uv ther order uv ‘Dixie 
Shiners’ an’, ez er proof uv yer grit, ye ar’ re- 
quired ter take er journey inter ther Lower 
Regions; an’ hit haint fer me ter say thet ye’ll 
ever come back. But, ye hav’ ther consolation uv 
knowin’ thet all Nohle Shiners already thar, hav’ 
made this journey, an’ them what’s er cornin’ will 
hav’ ter do hit too. Prepare fer ther worst. 
Pray fer ther best.” 

The spokesman then turned to the man with 
the rope and said : 

“Most Noble Hangman, approach an’ make 
fast ther ‘Shiner’s knot’.” 

The Most Noble Hangman advanced and with 
a sailor’s dexterity applied the rope; making a 


94 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 


kind of hanging basket around Henry’s body. 
When he had finished, he said : 

“He’s ready fer ther drap,Most Noble Shiner.” 

All was darkness to Henry Thogmartin during 
this dialogue. Not a ray of the moonlight pene- 
trated the hoodwink ; the solitary peaks, the 
boundless chestnut forest, the stately pines, the 
sparkling waters of Devil Creek, below, were all 
silent witnesses to- this thrilling ordeal. But, 
Henry, with unswerving faith in Sexton, did not 
flinch nor complain but in humble supplication 
put his trust in Him that dwelleth not in the 
“Lower Regions,” and patiently awaited the be- 
ginning of the first degree of the “Dixie Shin- 
ers.” 

Four men held the rope in check, while Sexton 
eased Henry over the brink of that great hanging 
rock — Satan’s Leap. When the detective’s 
weight fell upon the cable it sped out and he shot 
downward into the darkness, but they soon 
checked him and then slowly lowered him down, 
down, down, three hundred feet or more. Only a 
few coils of the long cable remained unwound 
when his descent was stopped, while far below in 
the blackness of the valley he hung, yet a hundred 
feet from the earth. He could hear the rippling 
stream; could feel the tugging of the rope; other 


OVER SAT AW 8 LEAP. 


95 


than this he was ignorant of his stupendous sur- 
roundings. It is well that he was, for doubtless 
he would have succumbed to the awfulness ol the 
scene could he in the full realization of his peril 
have viewed it; however, being blind tO' all, he 
swung like a weight suspended between heaven 
and earth; hemmed in by two* towering gray 
walls of limestone which reached in a semi-circle 
around the mountain for half a mile, in either di- 
rection, presenting a repellant aspect, bald and 
barren save here and there, where a rhododen- 
dron wound its hardy roots around a jagged stone 
and clung tenaciously to its rugged vantage 
ground. 

This great rocky mass was perforated by num- 
erous caverns. In front of one of these, a verita- 
ble Hall of St. Michael, Henry dangled for sev- 
eral minutes. At length a pistol was fired from 
above, then he was pulled within and taken from 
the basket. 

The inhabitants of this hall, or cave as it really 
was, spoke in the same deep voice characteristic 
of the strange men Henry had previously met on 
the peak. 

‘Welcome, child uv ther yearth !” one of them 
exclaimed. “Foller, we’ll lead ye inter ther Lower 


96 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

Regions, whar ye’ll receive instructions inter our 
noble gang. Advance with caution.” 

They conducted him onward further into the 
cave until they approached a gurgling subterran- 
ean stream; here they were commanded to halt 
by another deep' voice which said : 

“By what right does er child uv ther y earth 
seek ter cross Devil Creek, inter ther Lower Re- 
gions ?” 

Guide: “By ther right uv qualification. Most 
Noble.” 

M. N. : “Ar’ he er criminal?” 

Guide: “He ar’. Most Noble.” 

M. N. : “Ar’ he at outs with ther New Nited 
States Gover’ment?” 

Guide: “He ar’ Most Noble.” 

M. N. : “Ar’ he in kerhoots with us?” 

Guide: “Even so. Most Noble.” 

M. N. : “Then guide him across Devil Creek 
inter ther sacred Lower Regions, an’ advance him 
ter ther Most Noble Dome, whar he’ll hev ter 
kneel do'wn an’ tooken ther sublime oath uv er 
Most Noble Dixie Shiner.” 

Whereupon one of the guides said to Henry : 

“Grab this hyre pole an’ f oiler I.” 

In this manner the detective was led across 
Devil Creek, by walking on a puncheon that 
spanned the channel; and then conducted into a 



HLINDINC; I'l.ASIl! 

















OVER SATAWS LEAP. 


97 


room at right angles with the main cavern, where 
an almost suffocating heat engulfed him. Again 
the voice spoke: 

“Child uv ther outer yearth, ye have been safely 
drapped from Satan’s Leap, down ter ther en- 
trance uv Shiner’s Abode, an’ fotched without 
harm over Devil Creek ; now ye stand fer ther fust 
time in yer life on ther rocky floor uv ther Lower 
Regions, er place most sacred ter ther heart uv 
every Dixie Shiner erbove dirt er below hit. 
Child, ye stand fer ther fust time, surrounded by 
er gang uv ‘Dixie Shiners er gang thet ud wade 
through hell er mile ter protect er true an’ worthy 
brother ‘Shiner a gang thet ud foller ye ter ther 
jumpin off place, an’ pump hot lead inter yer car- 
cas till ye smoked like er tar kiln should ye be sich 

er d fool ez ter violate ther oath now erbout 

ter be imposed on ye by this hyre gang. Child 
uv ther yearth, there is yit time ter back out ef 
ye haint got grit er nuf ter die fer ther gang er 
any member there uv. Answer erloud right now, 
so ther whole gang kin hear ye ; ar’ ye willin’ ter 
take this oath? Beware, child, an’ remember 
one crooked move outin ye, arter ye hev tooken 
this hyre oath means death ter ye. Will ye take 
ther oath? Say ‘yes,’ er ‘no’.” 

A painful silence followed. Henry could hear 
the gang breathing; could hear the simmering of 


98 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 


the boiling liquor; and could hear his own heart 
jumping like a rat in a trap. In the few brief 
moments that passed his thoughts ran over the 
events of his whole life. When he remembered 
his escape from the Buzzard Roost gang he real- 
ized that his danger was far less here with this 
gang of moonshiners than any where else just 
then. 

“All is fair in love or war. This is a bitter 
pill, but, I’d rather take this oath internally than 
an ounce of lead externally,” he mused. So, by 
a violent effort of stammering he managed to 
squeak out a husky “yes.” 

Immediately thereupon he was caused to kneel 
and place his hands upon the body of a moonshine 
still, which was almost hot enough to blister 
them. In this position, he was made to take the 
moonshiner’s binding obligation. When all was 
in readiness the Most Noble Shiner said : 

“Child, speak yer own name an’ say after I” 
(Henry repeated the following) : 

“I, Henry Thogmartin, uv my own doin’ an’ 
likin’ in ther sight uv this gang, an’ with my 
hands on this bilin’ still, do' hyre by, an’ hyre on 
swar by all thet’s good an’ bad, thet I’ll not tell 
nuthin’ I already know er bout this hyre gang ur 
may find out frum now on ter any body in ther 
world ur outin hit, unlessen hit be ter er Most 


OVER SATAN’S LEAP. 


99 


Noble Shiner, ur in er full fledged gang uv sich; 
an’ ter him ur them, nuther, unlessen I know 
they’re dyed in ther wool. On top uv all this 
hyre I swar thet I won’t lie on, nur steal frum 
none uv this hyre gang, nur ter stand hy an’ let 
hit be done, ez long ez cateriges er ez cheap ez 
they ar’ now. On top uv all this I sw’ar that I’ll 
lie, sw’ar lies, steal, cut, maul, ur shoot fer this 
hyre gang, ur any member ther’ uv. Moreover 
do I sw’ar thet I’ll warn this hyre gang ur any 
member ther’ uv, uv ther wharbouts uv eny revi- 
nue man, marshal, er spotter, er spyer, thet I may 
know uv, an’ do all in my power ter rid ther 
kintry uv sich trash, even ter ther commutin’ uv 
bush-whackin ! Moreover I do sw’ar, thet I 
won’t give er way none uv ther formulas er se- 
crets belongin’ ter ther makin’ uv moonshine 
whiskey; nur eny uv ther private secrets thet 
might be told ter I by eny one uv this hyre gang. 
Moreover, I do sw’ar thet I’ll stick ter this hyre 
gang, their women an’ kids, through thick an’ 
thin, fer alus an’ evermore. Moreover, do I sw’ar 
thet if this gang thinks uv enything else thet they 
want me ter sw’ar ter. I’ll do hit, in ther Court 
House, not excepted. Ter ther whole uv this, 
what I hev gone over, do I sw’ar pint blank and 
pintedly, without er bobble, ter keep an’ ter do, 
tyin’ myself with no littler liability then ter hev er 


Lof C. 


100 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLAND8. 

rope put round my neck, an’ tother end tied ter a 
stump on top uv Satan’s Leap, an’ me plunged 
over ther precipice an’ my head jerked off by tlier 
fall; my body ter be eat up by ther wildcats an’ 
varmints what den in Devil Creek cliffs, an’ my 
head ter be biled fleshless, in er moonshine still, 
an’ ther skull kept fer an example ter them thet 
follers me; wuz I ever ter go back on this, my 
most noble oath uv er Dixie Shiner, so help I, my 
brothers, ter do ez I hev said, so help me Jeff 
Davis.” 

After Henry had completed the oath the Most 
Noble Shiner addressed him as follows : 

“My brother, ye ar’ now goin’ ter see fer ther 
fust time in yer life er moonshine still in full blast, 
an’ er purtier sight ye never gazed at ; yet, while 
kneelin’ hyre surrounded by this gang, yer hands 
on ther noble Dome, don’t yer feel a little shaky 
lessen yer don’t git back ter yer pap in ez good 
order ez ye left home? May ye ever keep these 
ides fresh in yer mind, an’ forever scorn ther New 
Nited States Cover ’ment. Now, my brother, 
ther Lord made ther world an’ trimmed her in er 
week, an’ when he got done, he war uv the same 
notion erbout certain things ez ye ar’ at this 
minit: He wanted ter see what He’d done, so 
He says, Xight,’ an’ thar wuz light.” 

At the same instant one of the gang jerked the 


OVER SATAN^S LEAP. 


101 


blind-fold from Henry’s eyes, and a number of 
torches and gas lights flashed up all around him. 

When the bandage fell he staggered to his feet 
blinded by the lights, and it was with consider- 
able effort that the guide kept him from falling. 
The glare that met his eyes, which for hours had 
been in darkness, was sO’ severe that temporary 
blindness ensued ; and for a time he stood dazed ; 
unable to discern anything about him. Some one 
pressed a cup of liquor to his lips and said : 

“Take er snort uv this, podner, hit’ll cut fher 
cob webs outin yer guzzle an’ make ye snap yer 
eyes like er tarripin.” 

Henry took a swallow from the cup, and, in- 
deed, it did “cut ther cob webs outin his guzzle,” 
and made his eyes snap “like er tarripin,” for the 
strong whiskey strangled him and a fit of cough- 
ing brought the liquor spattering from his nos- 
trils and mouth, and the tears streaming from 
his eyes. 

His inability to swig, with impunity, the newly 
made “moonshine” whiskey proved great amuse- 
ment for the “gang,” and the cavern walls rever- 
berated with the basso “Haw, Haw” of the Dixie 
Shiners. 

This incident, however, embarassing to Henry, 
was not without its benefit, for with magical 
celerity, his eyes resumed their office, and from 


102 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 

out the dazzling light appeared the forms of a 
score or more of men, roughly featured; their 
hair illkept and shaggy; their faces bushed with 
grizzly beard. Some had eyes, deep set and pig- 
gish, others were blear-eyed, and yet others were 
marked with the eyes of an owl. Their build 
was diverse. Some of figures stout and short; 
some tall, and stooped, and sallow, having the 
consumptive’s posture. Each man wore panta- 
loons and blouse of homespun jeans, and around 
his waist a well-filled cartridge belt was buckled, 
to which swung a holster supporting a large 
Colt’s revolver ; while under his hands, with stock 
resting on the floor, stood the mountaineer’s fav- 
orite firearm, a Winchester rifle. 

Directly in front of Henry was the first of a 
long row of copper stills, which steamed and sim- 
mered and created a kind of engine house din, 
that gave the cavern more the aspect of a large 
boiler room than a distillery. These stills in 
capacity were not less than fifty gallons each, and 
a number of them were in full operatioii. 

In addition tO' the men who had conducted the 
initiation, there were some half do'zen others 
busily hurrying here and there, performing the 
sundry duties imposed by such a colossal plant. 

Henry eagerly scanned the crowd, hoping to 
see some familiar face, but all were strange to 


OVER 8ATAW8 LEAP. 


103 


him. He wondered why Sexton was not there, 
but remembering the strained state of affairs at 
home he knew that the old man had hastened back 
after placing him in care of the men on Satan’s 
Leap. 

The most noticeable of all Henry’s queer asso- 
ciates, was that worthy person bearing the high 
sounding title of ‘‘Most Noble.” He was a large 
man with big bulged eyes and an extremely long 
moustache which he tied at the back of his neck. 
He sat tailor fashion upon the head of a whiskey 
barrel, and surveyed his surroundings with an air 
of authority. This worthy individual at length 
tapped the barrel with his revolver, and when or- 
der was restored, said : 

“Behold, brethren, brother Henry Thogmartin, 
er full fledged Dixie Shiner. Advance an' greet 
him with ther grip an’ word uv our glorious in- 
stitution.” 

The gang relaxed into an easier posture and 
with general hilarity crowded about Henry, all 
anxiously waiting to give him the official grip 
and pass- word. The former consisting substan- 
tially of strongly grasping the hand as near to the 
base of the thumb as possible and then with a 
quick motion bringing the hand upward, simi- 
lar to taking aim with a revolver. The latter be- 
ing: “Howd’y Jeff Davis.” 


104 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

Notwithstanding the tense formality of the 
procedure, heretofore, this phase was not carried 
out so strictly. Some members deviating so far 
as to use the following ridiculous salutations : 

“Hello., Jeff Davis.” 

“Give me er shake uv yer paw, Jeff Davis.” 

“Wuz ye scared much, Jeff Davis?” 

“Glad ter see ye ez if I’d run er rusty nail 
through my foot, Jeff Davis.” 

This welcome reception was concluded by the 
Most Noble again rapping on the barrel, then 
turning to a man at his right who held a torch 
in his hand, he said : 

“Brother Torch Toter, conduct ther gang inter 
ther feast-chamber, whar we’ll eat, drink an’ be 
merry fer ter-morrer ther deputy-marshals rnoiit 
come.” 

Whereupon the Devil Creek Gang of Dixie 
Shiners filed out, and assembled in another part 
of the cave, around a roughly hewn table, which 
creaked under its load of coarse food, and ardent 
beverages. The menu, while not as delicious as 
would be served by the elite of our land, was with 
no less relish devoured ; for each man in his own 
peculiar way, devoid of every shadow of table 
etiquette, ate with greed and kept the bowls of 
“still beer” turning with right good cheer. 

Henry, who had been under the strain of excite- 


OVER SAT AW 8 LEAP. 


106 


ment for the last thirty-six hours, could not be 
expected to partake of a mouthful of the food or 
beverages, however, he quaffed the beer with 
much delight and ate the baked possum and sweet 
potatoes with an appetite that was not lost on 
his hearty comrades, for there is nothing that finds 
its way into the affections of the generous hearted 
mountaineer, like a good appetite at his board. 

At last the climax came. The table, by the 
litter of bones, resembled a wild cat’s den ; the still 
beer had performed its mission lulling many of 
the gang into a drunken stupor, and inciting 
others to song and dance. Tobacco smoke dense 
enough to be carved with a knife floated in clouds 
through the feast chamber, and Shiners’ Abode 
echoed with the maniacal yells of many fire-eating 
Shiners, who in wrathful language cursed the 
government and discharged their fire arms to no 
purpose; unless to the discontent of the reptiles 
that always lurked about the walls of the cavern. 

Despite their grewsome initiation, their awful 
ironclad oath, their blood curdling penalty, despite 
all this, the Shiners’ banquet was in one respect 
like Belshazzar’s feast: The hand was writing 
on the wall. Like Daniel, Henry could have di- 
\ ined its writing but they knew it not. 

The walls of this great underground hall were 
filled with sub-caverns, which the Shiners used 


106 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8, 

for sleeping bunks. To one of these Henry was 
directed and with no little surprise found exactly 
as he had left them on the peak, his gun and pair 
of linsey blankets. His berth was little narrower 
than an ordinary bed, and slightly concaved in 
the bottom, making a very substantial, if not com- 
fortable, resting place. Without undressing he 
rolled himself in his blankets, “Tike one who 
wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies 
down to pleasant dreams,” but there were no 
dreams of pleasure for Henry that night. 

If a strange bed although downy with soft 
feathers and invitingly spread with white linens 
and sweet covers, within the comfortable walls of 
some home-like hotel is fraught with an influence 
oif unrestfulness, what could be said of Henry’s 
position that night; as he lay there in the cradle 
of nature, wrapped like a mummy that has been 
shelved away to be undisturbed until the dawn of 
eternity ; while across the cavern, along the oppo- 
site wall, crept an army of fire-eyed reptiles that 
flashed a volley of angry sparks at him and made 
his flesh crawl. 

The sensation of horror that engulfed him 
could no more be described than the feelings of 
one who' is chained in a dungeon and left to be 
slowly tortured tO' death by devouring vermin. 
But, for the wretched there is one unfailing solace 


OVER SATAN’S LEAP. 


107 


like oil on a troubled sea; one sentinel that with- 
stands the wild eyed fiend that seeks to enter our 
chariot of reason and drive it head long into the 
raging maelstrom of insanity — that is Retrospec- 
tion; and within its comforting dominion Henry 
permitted his mind to wander, nor did it 
have far to go, either, for only two short 
days before he had walked innocently along 
the dull old road brushing the dust from the 
leaves that swept his coat; while, in fancy 
he dwelt upon a picture of home. Then 
came the wire, the fall, the dreary march to Buz- 
zard Roost cliffs, the long lonely night, made 
more unbearable by the storm and his galling 
fetters; then the thrilling rescue, and last, the 
heavenly journey through the woods with her, 
whose every look was an inspiration, whose every 
step was the rustle of an angel’s wing. 

Here Imagination’s fascinating wand lured 
him into the dreamy wilderness of the Future 
where a myriad of fitful fancies flitted before his 
tired mind. 


CHAPTER X. 


""ratti^esnake) an' bust head." 

UT on the face of Shiners Peak the 
scorching sun shriveled the leaves on 
a red-oak bush. An ivory billed 
woodpecker drummed on a dead pine 
snag. A rusty lizard lay panting and blinking 
its little red eyes on the face of Satan’s Leap; 
but, these lethargical signs were no' criterion of 
the interior; for hundreds of feet below in the 
bowels of the mountain swarmed a busy hive of 
human bees and among them locked in the restor- 
ing arms of Slumber lay Henry Thogmartin, un- 
disturbed by the busy hum of talking Shiners; 
the sputter of the boiling still; or the loathsome 
jingle of the angry rattlesnakes, and on he slept 
until Sexton came and woke him. 

His first words were to* inquire of Lady, and 
when Sexton told him she was much improved, 
he was happy. 




‘RATTLESNAKE AN’ BUST HEAD.’ 


109 


Aunt Mandy Sexton had sent him a delicious 
breakfast, which he must eat before they went to 
work. 

“Wa’al, would ye like ter explore this cave er 
fore ye take yer job?” Sexton asked when Henry 
had finished breakfast. 

“Might as well, I reckon,” replied Henry care- 
lessly. 

“Come on then.” 

And by the aid of an engineer’s torch, the old 
man, with childish confidence, guided the detec- 
tive through his vast illicit distillery, showing 
him every thing and explaining every detail. Far 
into the cave they went, along the side of the 
subterranean stream where a large cavern was 
stocked two tiers deep with empty whiskey bar- 
rels. 

“Where do you get these barrels?” Henry 
asked. 

“They come frum Cincinnati, ter Medley’s 
store fer kraut an’ sich.” 

“How do you get them in here?” 

“Float ’em down Devil Creek, what runs clean 
through ther mountain an’ out on ’tother side.” 

“And when they are full do you float them 
out?” 

“Yes.” 

“Very handy arrangement, isn’t it?” 


no IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 


“Wa’al rd tell er man yes.” 

“How many barrels can you make a day?” 

“Ten, if we hev eny kind uv luck er tall. We 
jist started up in yearnest last night, an’ haint 
under headway yit.” 

Sexton then turned to a corner of the cavern 
which was partitioned off and said: 

“Here’s whar we keep our apples fer makin’ 
brandy.” 

“How many have you in there now?” asked 
Henry. 

“Oh, erbout two' hundred bushel, I reckon.” 

“I should think they would rot before you 
could use them,” remarked Henry. 

“Wa’al, they mout, then agin they mouten’t, but 
’taint no difference nohow,” Sexton went on, 
“cause rotten apples make er bout ez good brandy 
ez eny; they hev ter rot enyhow ye know.” 

“No, I didn’t know that.” 

“Hits er fact jist ther same.” 

“What do you do when the apple crop fails?” 

“Oh, thet hardly ever happens, but sometimes 
ther crop is so skant thet we hev ter fall back on 
taters an’ pawpaws, an’ persimmons fer fillin’ in, 
sorter.” 

“How about the corn-whiskey, I see no corn ?” 

“No, we don’t fetch corn in hyre; we jist take 
ther corn ter Medley’s grist mill up yander whar 


‘RATTLESNAKE AN^ BUST READ: 


111 


Devil Creek forks, an’ hev hit ground an’ put in 
barrels an’ float hit down, too.” 

“Who is Medley?” 

“Oh, he’s Crit’s daddy ; one of ther gang.” 

“How do you dispose of such immense quan- 
tities of liquor, Mr. Sexton?” 

“W’y thets easy : When we git erbout twenty 
barrels er head, some dark night we drap ’em 
inter Devil Creek, an’ drive ’em like saw logs 
down ter Levica Fork, whar we load ’em in er 
junk boat, an’ then down ther river they go.” 

“How far?” 

“Ter Cincinnati.” 

“It looks like that would be rather risky busi- 
ness, especially when you tried to sell it.” 

“Not er bit, W’y thar’s one man thar whats 
handled all my stuff fer twenty years, an’ never 
been ’spicioned yit.” 

Henry would have asked who this man was, 
but he feared it might arouse Sexton’s suspicions, 
so he concluded to bide his time. As they walked 
on toward another department, Henry said : 

“I notice no smoke in the cave anywhere, what 
becomes of it?” 

“Wait till we git inter ther still-room an’ I’ll 
show ye.” 

They went from one cell to another which was 
unused. It seemed to Henry as if the entire 


112 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

mountain was honey-combed with caverns. And 
as a whole, the place was most admirably adapted 
for the purpose it was serving — an illicit dis- 
tillery. 

The main cave was from fifty to one hundred 
feet wide, and from fifteen tO' twenty feet high, 
with four vast chambers ; the still-room, the feast 
chamber, the sleeping-room and the stock-room. 
Many Indian relics, skulls and other bones, two 
birch bark canoes, and a heap of Indian arrow 
heads, were among the signs of pre-historic occu- 
pancy. 

The fauna of Shiners’ Abode consisted princi- 
pally of rats, rattlesnakes, bats that hung in 
clusters about the roof, and, perhaps the most 
noteworthy of all, the over grown monobranchus 
(which were called blind water dogs by the Shin- 
ers). 

This species of monobranchus average three 
feet in length, weigh about twelve pounds and can 
be heard, day or night, floundering in the water 
along the edge of Devil Creek. 

Sexton remarked to Henry when they had 
returned tO' the still-room: 

“Come round hyre an’ I’ll show ye whar ther 
smoke goes ter.” 

Henry crossed to where the old man stood be- 
hind the row of stills and discovered under every 



FWO LONG ARMS RAISED ABOVE THE GIRL, 






'RATTLEmAKE AR’ BUST HEAD: 


113 


Still, blazing as serenely as if in some kitchen 
range, a large rose-shaped gas burner. 

“Gas ! In the name of all that’s wonderful, how 
did you strike gas in this cave?” Henry ex- 
claimed in surprise. 

“Wa’al I didn’t strike hit er tall. Hit struck 
me: Er long time er go I wuz in hyre hidin’ 
frum ther ‘Revenues;’ thet wuz long er fore I 
begin ’stillin’ in hyre, an’ I went in this very 
room an’ I laid down, an’ ther fust thing I knowd 
I didn’t hardly know nothin’, jist kinder crazy, 
like er addled duck, ye know. Wa’al, finally I 
pulled myself tergether an’ started fer ther open 
air ; but, I smelled somethin’ powerful strong, an’ 
I started ter ’vestigate, an’ bless yer soul, honey, 
I discivered thet gas jist er ceapin’ right up outin 
thet crack in ther rock floor. I tetched er match 
ter hit, an’ hit blazed up pert ez er cricket, an’ 
lx)ut ez high ez my head. I couldn’t put hit out 
ter save my life, sO' I jist santered off an’ let her 
blaze. Wa’al, ’twarant long arter that till yan 
little Irishman (Sexton pointed toward a small 
man who was working about one of the stills) 
come er long by my house an’ wanted ter stay all 
night. I took ’im in an’ during ther conversation 
what follered I found out he wuz what they call 
er gas fitter. Wa’al he gits drunk one night, an’ 
ups an’ tells me ez ter how he had killed er man 


114 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

over in North Carolina, an’ would like ter stay 
with me fer er spell. So, I seed I had ’im foul ; 
an’ when he sobered up I fetched ’im hyre an’ 
axed ’im : could he rig thet blaze up fer use under 
er still? An’, says he, ‘bet yer life I kin.’ An’ 
says I, ‘do' hit then.’ So we jist cut loose an’ done 
hit, an’ hev been improvin’ on hit ever since, till 
we hev got ther most upter datest moonshine still 
south uv Mason’s and Dixon’s line.” 

“Well, that beats my time; old man, you are a 
trump,” said Henry slapping him on the back 
goodnaturedly. “How do' you make corn whis- 
key, anyhow?” continued the detective. 

“Thet’s jist what I’s goin’ ter show ye. Do 
ye see yan tubs?” went on Sexton pointing his 
finger toward the tubs. 

“Yes.” 

“Them’s mash tubs. Wa’al, fust an’ foremost, 
ye put some shelled corn ur barley inter er tub uv 
warm water an’ let hit sprout; then, ye take an’ 
let hit dry; hits malt then. Next, ye grind ther 
malt on er old hand-mill, an’ put er little uv hit, 
an’ er right smart uv corn meal in er tub, an’ pore 
water over hit all; an’ let hit rack off (ferment) 
then when hits dead (through fermenting) we 
put hit in ther body uv ther still an’ boil hit ; an’ 
ther steam goes through thet worm thar in ther 
cold water, an’ condinses, an’ comes out liquor. 


'RATTLEi^lS’AKE AE> BUST HEADJ 


115 


— Kaintucky Moonshine Whiskey, e£ ye please/’ 

“I noticed some of the boys put a bunch of lau- 
rel leaves in the still cap a while ago, what was 
that done for?” asked Henry. 

“Ever hearn uv 'rattlesnak' an’ 'bust-head' 
liquor?” Sexton asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Wa’al thet’s how hits made. Laurel is pizen, 
an’ when ye wants ter make fightin’ whiskey, 
fill ther cap with laurel tops. W’y, er pint uv hit 
would make Talmage throw rocks at er funeral 
procession.” 

Sexton then showed Henry how to grind malt ; 
an old hand-mill being used for this purpose. 
Whereupon Henry took up his initial duty as a 
Shiner. Sexton then turned his attention to 
other affairs of the still. 


CHAPTER XL 


IN THE TRAP. 

EAR noon, the day Lady Sexton 
rescued Henry from the Buzzard 
Roost gang, Critendon Medley was 
closeted in the back room of his 
father’s store, in conversation with Jim Bob 
Sievers, the leader of the gang : 

‘-Well, did you get ’im?” Medley asked, show- 
ing his anxiety in every feature. 

“Yes,” answered Jim Bob doggedly. 

“That’s luck, where is he?” 

“Gone ter h — , I reckon,” said Jim Bob. 

“What do you mean?” The man hesitated. 
“Speak man!” exclaimed Medley, jumping up 
and looking at Jim Bob angrily. 

“He got er way. I don’t know exactly how. 
All four wuz guardin’ him till day light, then Tom 
Brown an’ me left him tied hard an’ fast thar in 
Buzzard Roost, with Bill Henry Sizemore an’ 
Joe Toad Carpenter ter guard ’im; an’ we lit out 




IN THE TRAP. 


117 


ter tell ye ; but, ’fore we got far bang went er gun. 
Me an’ Tom run back an’ thar wuz Bill Henry 
wabblin’ round like er fittified purp, an’ yellin’ 
thet he wuz shot dead. Ther priznur wuz gone. 
Down in ther forks uv er black oak tree, under 
ther cliff, sot Joe Toad, squakin’ like er rain 
crow.” 

“How on earth did it all happen ?” asked Med- 
ley more perplexed than ever. 

“All I know erbout hit is what Bill Henry an’ 
Joe Toad told me, an’ thet haint much. Joe Toad 
said he hearn somethin’ tearin’ ther bushes, out 
side ther cave, an’ went out ter see what hit wuz ; 
an’ ther fust thing he knowd er hell-hound chased 
him over ther cliff. An’ Bill Henry said he run 
out ter see what wuz ther row, an’ er hell-hound 
chased ’im back inter ther cave an’ ther priznur 
up an’ shot ’im dead, an’ when he come to, ther 
deserter wuz done gone, dorg an’ all.” 

“If Bill Henry was shot dead, how could he 
come to?” inquired Medley. 

“Oh, he wuz jist stunted fer er while. Ther 
bullet grazed his temple barely drawin’ blood.” 

The explanation of Bill Henry’s statement is 
a simple one: When he rushed back into the 
cave he could only discern the form of a person, 
and not knowing that Lady was there, naturally 
supposed that it was Henry who had shot him. 


118 IN THE SHADOW OP THE GUMBERLANDS. 

'‘Well/’ said Medley, “that’s some of Tobe 
Sexton’s work, and the best thing for yon and 
the boys toi do is tO' go over in West Virginia and 
stay till I send you word to come back.” 

Jim Bob stood munching the end of his mus- 
tache and gazing blankly at the floor, then looking 
up at Medley, said : 

“We haint scared uv Sexton nur none uv his 
gang.” 

“Oh, I know that,” pursued Medley, “but we 
don’t want to raise any disturbance. The easiest 
way is the best way. If Sexton gets started there’s 
liable to be a funeral or two ’round here before 
long. The thing tO' do is to lay low and watch 
our chance. If anything turns up I’ll let you 
know.” 

Medley handed Jim Bob a bill and continued: 
“Here’s ten dollars, that’ll pay you very well for 

your last night’s work; but, I’d a d sight 

rather paid you fifty and got the man. Of course 
I don’t blame you for letting him get away ; I 
don’t see how it could have been avoided, how- 
ever, it is a dang strange thing tO' me how it 
happened.” 

“To me, too,” replied Jim Bob, “howsomever. 
I’ll dO' as ye say. If ye need us, ye will find us 
up on Tug at ther hang-out.” 

Without further remarks the conversation was 


IN THE TRAP. 


lit) 


concluded. Jim Bob returned toi his companions 
who were waiting for him in the nearby bushes. 

Medley resumed his seat and gave himself over 
to meditation. He was sorely disappointed by 
Henry Thogmartin’s escape; but, no good could 
come of grieving over spilled milk, he thought, 
and his next move would be to discover Henry’s 
whereabouts and set another trap for him. 

“There’s only two ways for the cat to hop,” 
mused Medley, “he’ll either leave this country or 
go to work in Sexton’s still. If he leaves, all 
good and well ; if he goes to work in the still, he is 
my mutton. I’ll take a stroll over tO' Sexton’s 
one of these days and see how the land lays there. 
Tomorrow night Mace Adkins will come up to 
the store for rations for Sexton’s gang of moon- 
shiners, and I can find out from him if Thog- 
martin is down at the still. If he is, his cake is 
dough. I will start the rumor among the Shiners 
that he is a government spy, and I can see his 
finish now.” 

Thus jealousy, that evil eyed monster that 
lurks in every human heart as mild as a zephyr 
when passive; as violent as a tornado when 
aroused, led Medley on in his fiendish persecution 
of the young detective. 

He had no idea that Henry was, in reality, a 
Secret Service man, but he knew the nature of the 


120 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

Shiners so well that he could with a certainty 
figure on results, could he inculcate in their sus- 
picious minds the belief that Henry was a spy. 
If he could accomplish this, he knew that his 
rival would never again interfere with him or 
any one else. There was but one precau- 
tion necessary: He must keep Sexton in total 
darkness of his scheme, for. Medley was well 
aware that, should the old man hear the rumor, 
he would trace it to the very tap-root; and, of 
course, that must not happen. 


CHAPTER XIL 
ME:dIvE:y visits the sextons. 


HE following afternoon, Aunt Mandy 
Sexton sat by Eady’s bedside sway- 
ing leisurely a bush of peacock feath- 
ers, while the azure smoke from her 
old clay pipe drifted to the open window, and 
wound itself among the matted leaves of a morn- 
vine. Back of her was the old fire- 
place. Above, on the fire-board, lazily ticking 
the dull summer hours away, sat the venerable 
Seth Thomas clock, its restless pendulum flashing 
a bundle of sunlight back and forth across the 
floor. Old Dum, the dog that never barked, lay 
in the front door taking his afternoon nap. 

The yard gate creeked; a guinea hen’s epical 
pot-rack sounded the alarm. Old Dum arose to 
his feet, his massive form half filling the door. A 
low thunder-like rumble issued from his mouth. 
Critendon Medley gracefully strode up the gravel 
walk toward the house, plucked a rose-bud and 



122 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

fastened it in button-hole of his coat as he came 
along. 

The girl was sleeping, and Aunt Mandy was 
glad of it, for she knew Medley’s presence would 
annoy her. The old woman pushed by the snarl- 
ing dog and went to meet the young man. 

“Howd’y, Aunt Mandy,’" he said as she ap- 
proached. 

“Only middlin’, Crit, how’s all with ye?” said 
the old woman rubbing her eyes with the corner 
of her apron. 

“Where’s Lady?” 

“In bed sick.” Aunt Mandy knew what the 
next question would be and was ready for it. 
She had an idea that he was spying, and to use her 
own expression, “She layed as tO' how he would 
tote his ignorance home with him.” 

“What ails her?” Medley inquired, rubbing his 
hands. 

“Typhoid fever,” said the old woman with a 
sigh, continuing, “ther pore child’s er sleep now 
fer ther fust time since she took down, an’ can’t 
be disturbed.” 

“Fm very sorry to hear it, is there anything I 
can do for her comfort?” 

“Not thet I know uv.” 

“Where’s Tobe?” asked Medley. 

“He’s er way on business.” 


MEDLEY YimTS THE SEXTONS. 


123 


Medley had planned to pump the old woman, 
so he lead out : 

“I overheard two of the Buzzard Roost gang 
doing some strange talking in the store yesterday, 
and I thought perhaps Tobe would like to hear 
about it.’’ 

He waited to see what effect his speech would 
have. The old woman rubbed her nose with her 
gingham apron, and looked across the field. Med- 
ley went on: 

“They were saying something about Thog- 
martin, whom they had under arrest, shooting 
one of them and escaping, and — " 

“Did he kill ther man?” interrupted Aunt 
Mandy, innocently. 

“No,” answered Medley, “the bullet only 
grazed his head, dazing him. Another one of 
the gang got scared and jumped over the cliff 
into a tree top.” 

“I wonder!” exclaimed the old woman with 
feigned surprise. 

Medley ventured to ask another question : 

“Where is Thogmartin ?” 

Aunt Mandy was anxious to tell him. 

“Skipped ther kintry, I lay,” she replied. 

“Well, I’m in hopes he has.” This time 
Medley spoke the truth. 


124 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

“Did the man what jumped over ther cliff hurt 
himself?” asked the old woman. 

“No, only broke a rib or so.” 

“Well, fer ther luve uv heaven!” she exclaimed. 
“Well, Grit, I must be gittin back, ur ther fetch- 
taked flies’ll hev Lady bodaciously eat up ef 1 
don’t.” 

The old woman turned and went into the house. 
Medley rubbed his hands in a troubled way; 
looked up the road as if expecting to see some one, 
then walked off toward the gate, whistling dole- 
fully. 

Shortly afterwards Sexton returned from the 
still. 

“Grit Medley wuz hyre lookin’ fer ye, so he 
said ; but I think he wuz spyin’ eround remarked 
the old woman to her brother. 

“I seed ’im,” said Sexton. 

“Did he tell ye what he heard?” 

“Yes,” replied the old man, “an’ good news hit 
wuz too. I actually b’lieve Lady would hev gone 
stark mad in ernother week, ef thet man had er 
been killed dead.” 

“Oh, I lay she would,” said Aunt Mandy, “fer 
she’s been ravin’ powerful ez hit is. She’s no 
mor’n er wake till she’s off an’ gone agin, cryin’ 
an’ moanin’ an’ sayin’ ‘Thar comes thet man! 
Stop him! Stop him! My God, he’ll kill me! 


MEDLEY VISITS THE SEXTONS. 126 

Ther gun! Give me ther gun! O, God! O, 
God! Tve killed ’im! See ’im failin’!’ Then 
she’ll throw her hands up an’ holler, ‘Take ’im 
away ! Take ’im away he is dead ! Oh, I can’t 
stand hit, take ’im out uv my sight !’ That’s how 
she raves an’ goes on every time she comes to her- 
self. Hit haint nothin’ but ther medicine what’s 
holdin’ her down now.” 

“I know hit, Mandy, an’ I’ll set by her bed ter 
night an’ when she wakes up I’ll tell her ez ter how 
ther man she shot aint dead, nur even hurt, nur 
ther tother one nuther, ther one what ole Dum 
flung over ther cliff.” 

“Wa’al hit’ll be er pow’rful load offen ther pore 
girl’s mind, I lay.” 

Late that night, Sexton sat by his daughter’s 
bedside, gently stroking her hair. The house 
bore the stillness of death. The old clock’s 
dreary tick deepened the lonesomeness. Over 
field and woodland hung a melancholy silence, 
only broken by the song of the whipporwill : 

“As he sadly sang to his own little love, 

In the tree that bends over the rill.” 

It was then that Lady Sexton’s great brown 
eyes opened and gazed sadly about, trembling in 
their sockets, as flickering reason faltered on the 
threshold of consciousness. Truly “the windows 
of the soul” are the eyes. 


126 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMB.jRLANDS. 

Sexton broke the heavenly news to the girl with 
the gentleness of a mother. A sweet, sad smile 
blessed the old man, as he stooped and kissed her, 
and in prayerful accents she murmured : 

“Thank God, Thank God,” and still holding 
his hand, she closed her eyes and slept. It was 
the sleep that restored, that “knits up the raveled 
sleeve of care.” 

While this pathetic scene was going on another, 
of a different nature, was transpiring in the back 
room of Medley’s store. Grit Medley was pour- 
ing intO' the foul brain of Mace Adkins the vene- 
mous vapor of a guilt-steeped soul. Adkins in 
Medley’s hand was a tool. More than once they 
had with malice aforethought inhabited the laurel 
thicket that hedges the old mountain road ; more 
than once the simultaneous bark of their Win- 
chesters had sent some Revenue man to his re- 
ward. 

Adkins had just finished telling Medley that 
Henry was at the still, when Medley said : 

“Mace, it’s my opinion that Thogmartin is a 
government spy. If the gang lets him get out of 
their clutches I wouldn’t give thirty cents for their 
chance. The first thing you know some dark 
night a squad of United States Deputy-Marshals 
will swoop down on Shiners’ Abode, and the 
gang’s post office address for the next two years 


MEDLEY VISITS THE SEXTONS. 


127 


will be Covingto'n, Kentucky. The best thing 
you can do is to put them on to his game. In 
the meantime, I’ll do a little investigating.” 

“W’y h — fire, Crit, uv course I’ll tell ’em!” 
said Adkins, turning pale as death, and starting to 
go. 

“Come back a minute, Mace,” Crit called. 
Adkins returned, and in a cautious manner Med- 
ley said: 

“Mace, explain to the gang, that Thogmartin 
has got the wool pulled over Sexton’s eyes ; tell 
them that the old man is childish and not long 
for this world, and to just say nothing and saw 
wood, and when I get all the evidence necessary. 
I’ll come down some night, and we’ll give this 
smart young gentleman a hearing. Say to them 
Mace, that it’s all in the family anyhow, as I am 
going to be Sexton’s son-in-law before long, and 
will look after things for him — kind of manager, 
you know. Tell them not to let Sexton know 
that they think Thogmartin is a spy, for it would 
only trouble the poor old fellow, he’s so wrapt 
up in the young scoundrel. 

“Don’t worry, Crit, I’ll fix thet all right,” said 
Adkins as he went out. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


A moonshiner's advice. 

UMMER merged into autumn. The 
first white frost had ripened the fox- 
grapes and persimmons ; and the 
old dirt road lay buried under .a 
carpet of crimson and gold. Bevies of red- 
breasted robins plucked the berries from the su- 
mac, clusters of golden pawpaws dropped from 
their boughs into the waters of Devil Creek. 
Henry Thogmartin had never once seen the light 
of day since his entrance to Shiners’ Abode. His 
life of eternal night had worn away with the slow- 
ness of a dirge. His once susceptible impulses 
were now calloused and sordid. No more did the 
ominous rattle of the snakes or the flashing 
glance of the fire-eyed reptiles disturb his slum- 
bers. He ate the coarse food and lived the coarse 
life of a Shiner. The Shiners were to him like 
brothers — Joseph’s brothers. Their secrets were 
his. He was familiar with the workings of the 



A MOONSHINUE^JS ADVICE. 


129 


Still as a baker with his oven, and the great cavern 
was his home. 

His mission, so far as the illicit distilling was 
concerned, was performed, — to press the button 
only remained undone. A little while and all 
would be over, and this great success would give 
him fame and prestige, but yet he was dissatisfied, 
for not a word had he ever heard of his father’s 
mysterious death. Yet there was one thing else 
that troubled Henry most of all. He had been 
sent there to uproot this great band of law 
breakers, and now he held in the hollow of his 
hand, as it were, every vistage of evidence nec- 
essary to annihilate them. Still, he faltered. 
Many a dark struggle he fought on the battle- 
field of duty. It was hard for him tO' make up 
his mind to cast the die that would surely bring 
destruction to Sexton, who despite his rough un- 
couthness, had won Henry’s lasting friendship 
by his kindness and protection, and ties had been 
formed that could not be easily broken. Henry 
felt like the headsman, who stands with ax up- 
lifted, yet hesitates tO' strike. “How can I ever 
strike the blow that will bring destruction to the 
Sexton home ; that will break the brave true heart 
of the girl who saved my life?” he asked himself 
again and again. 

It was the same old battle that has been fought 


130 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

thousands of times, and will be fought thousands 
of times again — the battle “'twixt Love and Duty.” 
“To be or not to be; that is the question : whether 
it is nobler in the mind,” to pluck this mountain 
flower and forever be a shiner, “or to take arms 
against a sea of trouble,” and by reporting the 
gang, “end them?” That was the perplexing 
problem that harassed his waking hours and filled 
his nights with troubled dreams. Lady Sexton 
had risked her life for him. Should he in return 
betray her father, and bring disgrace on her in- 
nocent head? It would be like tearing out his 
own heart and casting it to the denizens of Devil 
Creek. At one instant he could see his way 
clearly out of the quagmire, but the next would 
find him following some fitful fire-fly deeper and 
deeper into the bog; and thus, for three long 
months this mental battle raged, and might have 
gone on much longer had not events unaided be- 
gun to shape themselves. 

Late one night in November, Sexton and 
Henry drifted down the murky current of Devil 
Creek; in advance of them slowly floated thirty 
barrels of new corn whiskey, that were soon to 
be loaded into the old junk boat, which lay an- 
chored at the ingress of the subterranean channel. 

It was almost day-break before the last barrel 
disappeared within the grimy walls of the old 



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A MOONSHINER>S ADVICE. 


131 


boat, where it, together with the other twenty- 
nine would soon lay hidden beneath a heap oi 
feathers, rags, ginseng, and such other goods as 
belong to a trade boat’s jumbled stock. 

When the work was done Sexton turned to 
Henry and said : 

“Boy, drag ther canoe up yander in ther alders, 
an’ we’ll meander over ter ther house an’ see ther 
folks ; they’ll be most powerful glad ter see ye 
agin.” 

Henry quickly concealed the boat and returned. 
The old man’s words were simple ones ; but they 
were to Henry as a pardon is to the condemned 
wretch who stands on the scaffold with black cap 
drawn, waiting with abated breath for the trap 
to fall. 

Sexton strode along a winding path that led 
around the rugged peak, Henry followed closely 
behind him. It was a long tiresome journey. 
Many times they would stop and rest. 

Behind them at the foot of the mountain, 
rocking in the morning breeze, lay the old junk 
boat ; the only sign of human habitation as far as 
their wandering eyes could see, while like a daz- 
zling silver crescent Levica Fork coiled about 
the foothills, pursuing its snake-like journey 
downward tO' the North. 

At last they reached the summit of Shiner’s 


132 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND^^. 

peak, higher by half than any of the mighty herd 
of monstrous mountains which lay reposing in the 
glorious sunlight of autumn and reaching on to 
the South till their great backs met the azure blue 
of the descending sky. 

As Sexton and Henry sat resting on this lordly 
eminence the old man surveyed with uplifted staff 
their surroundings — grand, majestic, sublime. 
Off to the East, a boundless forest loomed sol- 
emnly; like rolling waves on a golden sea, the 
monarchs of the woods swayed their noble heads, 
an unbroken wilderness of giant trees, untouched 
by the woodman’s ax, unseen by the greedy eye 
of commerce. 

To the South, yawning chasms stood sentinel 
over a glittering wall of cannel coal, stripped of 
soil and verdure by some dashing mountain tor- 
rent that furrowed with many a gulch the carbon- 
iferous spurs and peaks. Deep, romantic chasms, 
dark-hearted and sullen, slept at their feet un- 
touched by the caressing rays of the morning sun, 
while all else of nature was aroused and exulting 
in its glorious radiance. 

The old man’s eyes twinkled with delight as he 
in contemplation, scanned the primitive charms 
wdthin the compass of his sight. Gentle zephyrs 
softly wrapped him in ‘‘a wilderness of sweets,” 
and the inhaled air gave him a voluptuous glow 


A MOONSHINUE^S ADVICE. 


133 


of health and vigor that seemed to entrance his in- 
toxicated senses. He arose and with his staff 
pointed round about him, and in slow and solemn 
accents said to the young man : 

“Hits all mine. Hits all mine, ez fer ez yer 
eyes kin see. Ther countless trees; ther hills uv 
cannel coal ; ther gas thet burns under ther stills, 
an’ all ther bottom land, an’ flat land, an’ hill land, 
an’ mountain land ez fer ez yer eyes kin see — hits 
all mine. 

“Er few years more an’ Sexton’ll go ter his 
long home, ez Job says, an’ be er has bin ; then all 
this great heap uv world’s goods will fall ter my 
leetle daughter — Lady Sexton — an’ hit makes 
my ole heart ache ter think uv leavin’ her alone, 
without er pertecter; ter leave her an innercent 
victim ter ther designin’ scoundrels an’ villuns 
thet roam this hyre world callin’ themselves 
'men.' " 

The old man turned and with an imploring 
look spoke his thoughts in the soul’s saddest lan- 
guage — tears. After a little while he composed 
himself and went on : 

“Boy,” he began, “next ter her in Sexton’s 
heart comes ye. There’s thet about ye thet 
speaks ter me frum erfar ; thet tells me ye ar’ what 
ye ought ter be. No mean man kin ever pull 
frum er fiddle ther heavenly strains uv music thet 


134 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 

ye do. Boy, ther world ar’ er big place an’ full 
uv creek bed roads an’ rocky spurs; but take er 
Moonshiner’s advice, an’ ye’ll pull through ’em all 
an’ hev mash ernuf left fer ther next run : Fust 
an’ foremost, be true ter yerself! nextly, ef ther 
Revenues hem ye in an’ ther Deputy-Marshals 
crowd ye, an’ escape fails, use yer gun; lastly, 
when ther tussle is over, an’ ye’r hand-cuffed, 
an’ on yer way ter prison, turn er long 
pleadin’ look ter Him on high. Him, what 
sees ther sparrow’s fall, an’ sends ther ravens 
ter feed ther pore wider wimen, in ther win- 
ter time, an’ ax Him fer help,' an’ ye’ll git 
hit. Boy, ye may be er deserter but ye aint 
no sneak. Old Tobe Sexton is er plain man 
an’ er plain talkin’ one, an’ what he’s got ter say 
ter er man, he says hit square ter his face. Mark 
my words : Ez sure ez ther Lord Almighty’s 
heavenly sun shines down on this peak, so' sure 
would I be willin’ ter lay this ole Mud Box — what 
people call Tobe Sexton — down on Satan’s Leap, 
an’ let hit roll over ther great precipice down intei* 
Devil Creek, if I could see one thing come ter 
pass.” 

“What’s that?” asked Henry. 

“When ther time conies, boy, I’ll tell ye, but 
not now.” The old man stood meditating a few 
minutes, then resumed : 


A MOON>SHINF/^>JS ADVICE. 


135 


“Weil, I low ez ter how we had better be trav- 
eling.” Again they resumed their journey home. 

Henry’s thoughts were racing madly. His 
dilemma was more complex than ever. “What 
manner of man am I?” he mused, “that I should 
betray this old man’s confidence and wreck his 
life. Surely fiend nor devil could do no worse.” 
The torturing pangs of an outraged conscience 
smote him. 

When they reached the clearing that lay be- 
tween Sexton’s home and the woodland, Henry 
could see Aunt Mandy industriously prodding a 
fire that burned under some swinging kettles, out 
in the back-yard. When she saw them, she 
prodded the fire more vigorously and from the 
cloud of smoke which enveloped her, they could 
hear her chiding: 

“Ye’ve come et last, hev ye? Fer ther love uv 
heaven, Tobe Sexton, what kept ye erway till yit ? 
Here I’ve been this live-long mornin’ bilin’ water 
an’ bilin’ water, an’ heatin’ rocks, an’ heatin’ rocks 
an’ heatin’ rocks; an’ er waitin’, an’ er waitin’. 
Ef ye git any horgs killed ter day, I’d like ter 
know when hit’ll be, fer ther Lord Almighty 
knows ye oughter had ’em, scraped long erfore 
this.” The old woman, without noticing Henry, 
wiped her eyes with her apron and went on : 

“Lady’s done gone down ter Broders’ ter er 


136 IN THE SHADOW OF THE UUMBERLANDS. 

quiltin’ an’ hyre I’ve been totin’ water an’ pokin’ 
fire, an’ pokin’ water an’ totin’ fire ever since five 
er clock ; an’ now I lay hits seven, if hits er minit, 
an’ narry er man come er nigh.” At last the old 
woman looked up, and seemingly for the first, 
noticed Henry. She wiped her eyes with her 
apron, and giving her nose a thumb-screw twist, 
she rushed at the young man with outstretched 
arms, and exclaimed : 

‘‘Fer ther luv of Heaven ! Child uv ther abbey ! 
whar did ye come frum, up outin ther earth? 
Look at them whiskers! W’y pon my serious 
word an’ honor, ye ar ez rusty ez er ground- 
horg!” 

In another instant her arms were about Henry, 
and in his excitement, he kissed the old woman 
time and again. 

“Wa’al, boy, ef Mandy ever lets gO' uv ye, we’ll 
git about an’ kill ther hogs,” said Sexton. 

“I haint holdin’ uv ’im,” retorted the old wo- 
man, pushing the young man away. The re- 
mainder of the day was spent in butchering. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HENRY POSTS A BETTER. 

ADY returned late in the afternoon, 
but Henry did not see her until they 
met at supper. She received him 
without affectation, and by the simple 
candor of her generous nature dispelled his em- 
barassment and placed him at ease; and, once 
more they enjoyed the blissful table-talk of old, 
the very recollection of which had been a bub- 
bling fountain of sweetest memories. But sweet- 
est yet, were the cheerful hours that came be- 
tween dusk and bed-time, as the family around the 
glowing fire assembled, and with the violins. 
Lady and Henry 'sent forth on the Muses’ wings 
the breath of love. To Henry’s troubled mind 
it was like an hour in paradise. After the young 
folks had tired of playing, Sexton in his quaint, 
old fashioned way, touched the golden shell of 
Orpheus with many a nimble rhythm, but they 
were tinged with sadness, and he soon grew weary 





138 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CL aIHERLANDS. 

of playing and hung up his violin, and turning to 
Henry said : 

“Boys, we’ll not kill no hogs ter-morry; we’ll 
cut up an’ salt down them ar’ we killed ter-day. 
I’m er feard hit’ll turn warm; ef hit does, I would 
er heap sooner hev live hogs then dead’n’s, an’ 
besides, hits er leetle early; er nother frost haint 
goin ter hurt, nO' how.” 

“Can we finish tomorrow?” Henry asked. 

“Wa’al I low ez ter how we kin; an’ ef we do, 
we’ll slip back ter ther still ter-morry night.” 

“All right,” rejoined the young man. 

Sexton looked up at the clock an exclaimed : 

“Wa’al bein ez we hev ter stir purty early in 
ther mornin’ I vote thet we erjurn. Boy, ye’ll 
find yer same old room ready fer ye. When I 
holler in ther mornin’, come er humpin’.” 

“I’ll be on time.” 

Henry went to his room, stood a few minutes 
in deep thought, then went quietly out into the 
night. The air was cool and bracing; the stars 
twinkled merrily. He strolled down intO' the 
orchard. The sound of a falling apple could now 
and then be heard, otherwise the night was di- 
vinely calm. The flying frost glittered in the 
moonlight; unmindful of it, he sat on the lap 
of a fallen tree and meditated. 

“Tomorrow I must go back to the still,” he 


HENRY POSTS A LETTER. 


139 


mused, “and there is no telling when I wdll see 
daylight again. I must either cut the gunwale 
chain tonight and leave the Sextons to their fate, 
or go down wdth them. Which shall it be?” 

He thought of the old man’s advice to him, 
while on the peak, and the drollery of it amused 
him. 

“Still, there is something in it after all,” he 
muttered. 'Fust an' fomust, be true ter yerself/ 
the old man had said. Does that not decide it? 
Yes. Then what right have I to swerve from 
the line of duty? None." So far as duty was 
concerned it was all clear enough, yet there arose 
obscuring his way, an apparition, — the face of 
Lady Sexton. His surging thoughts cast up the 
memory of all she had done for him, and left it 
to bleach on the scorching sands of conscience. 

For a long while he sat like one asleep, 

A sigh — a phantom gone — a struggle ended. 

He arose, and with the air of one who has 
reached some sort of a conclusion went into the 
house. 

The next day as the “hack” that carries the mail 
from the mountain country down to the railway 
terminal rattled by the Sexton home, Henry 
Thogmartin waited at the turn of the road and 
handed the driver a letter, with the injunction- — 
“Mail it at White House.” The night following 


140 IN THE SHADOW OF THE 0UMBERLAND8. 

Henry returned to the still and again took up the 
labors of a Shiner. 

Lonesome days stretched intO' weary weeks; 
but never a sweet breath of open air, or a friendly 
sun-ray came to cheer him. He tired of the tread- 
mill existence he was filling. Little freedom was 
allowed him now. He stood aloof from his rough 
associates ; and they looked upon him with an eye 
of suspicion. Often he would be awakened from 
his slumber by the strange influence of ever- 
watching human eyes. He could not see them, 
yet knew that from somewhere near they were 
turned upon him. Nor were the waking hours 
freely his for at every turn a watchful shiner 
stood at his elbow. He now realized the grue- 
someness of his position; and helplessly watched 
the taper of his freedom slowly, constantly, burn 
away, while his confines with the grimness of 
death narrowed in upon him. 

Sexton’s visits to the still were less frequent, 
now, that bad weather had set in; and in his ab- 
sense Critendon Medley would ‘Mrop down” and, 
with much gusto, talk and laugh with the gang. 
After one of Medley’s visits it reached Henry’s 
ears that Lady Sexton and Medley were to be 
married. Sometime within the next month, his 
informant had said. 

Jealous fancy told Henry that the flame of love 


HENRY POSTS A LETTER, 


141 


that had beckoned him onward was a will-o-the- 
wisp after all, and that he had been artfully 
trapped. 

“I know that I have been a fool. I can see it 
now. Why did I not go about my business ; do 
my work expediently and leave here? Why was 
I such a fool as to mix myself up in this love 
affair, any how? If I stay here much longer I 
am a goner sure. I know what I’ll do some night 
before long, I’ll bid the most noble Dixie Shiners 
a silent farewell,” he mused. 

But this venture was a great deal easier thought 
of than accomplished. Patiently he waited for an 
opportunity to escape. But as skillfully was he 
foiled at every turn as if he were playing chess 
with some mighty master. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE EXPEOSION. 

HE gray old earth lay hidden be- 
neath an ivory-like carpet of new 
fallen snow. Tufts of mush-ice 
floated down Devil Creek’s subterra- 
nean channel and heralded the advent of winter. 

Sexton was straining every nerve to get anoth- 
er shipment of liquor off before the freeze came 
which would put a stop to navigation until spring. 
All was hurry and bustle about the “Abode.” Sev- 
eral of the gang had gone down the channel, 
driving barrels on that had become dead in the 
mush-ice; others were hurridly rolling more 
casks intOi the stream. 

Henry quickly recognized this as his long 
looked for opportunity. Now that the time had 
at last arrived, how could he best avail himself 
of it? Every moment might bring defeat to his 
cherished scheme. He was not long in deciding 
what to do. 



THE EXPLOSION. 148 

He stealthily crept up the channel tO' where 
the boats were moored. Just as he was unleash- 
ing a canoe someone approached. He slipped 
into a crevice and with wildly beating heart 
waited. The man came on ; the rays of light from 
his torch penetrated and lit up the crevice. The 
man stopped, looked about the cavern for a mo- 
ment, then went on to the stock-room; directly 
he returned and passed on to the still-room with- 
out discovering Henry. 

After waiting to see that no* one else came out, 
Henry stole from his hiding place and crept back 
to the canoe. With little difficulty he loosened 
it, and with one foot on the boat, the other on the 
shore he turned and took a long lingering look 
behind. Then with a quick motion he sent the 
craft skimming out over the inky surface, plowing 
into the blackness of the avenue. Another in- 
stant and he was swallowed by mid-night dark- 
ness. It was very slow work, pulling against the 
current and through the floating snow ; but buoyed 
up by the thoughts O'f freedom he did not notice 
the labor. Thus on his blind journey he went. 
Only the lapping of the waters against the lime- 
stone wall broke the grave-like silence of the place. 
At times the boat grated against some projecting 
rock, but a push of the oar would send it on its 
awesome excursion. Occasionally he would stop 


144 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

and listen, but the death-like hush alone answered 
his straining ears. 

*‘What would I do if a boat should appear?’^ 
he asked himself. He was so near the outside 
world that he was determined to push by, should 
one confront him. The air was growing cooler ; 
he knew by this that he was nearing the entrance. 
Only a short hundred yards and he would be back 
to the dear old world. He could already hear 
the sweet music of the wind as it murmured 
round the mountain side. A glimpse of the sky 
showed a handful of glittering stars; and the 
moon was peeping at him from over the distant 
hill-tops. A stretch of snow-mantled earth lay 
like a great white sheet in front of him, and 
reached up to the far away knobs. Another lurch 
ahead would bring him beneath the blue heavens 
— would bring him freedom. 

A blinding dash! A deafening roar! 

‘‘God!! What ” 

The exclamation was never finished. A shaft 
of fire leaped five hundred feet high. The angry 
flames gleamed and madly lapped the sky. 

Henry sat motionless — paralyzed with awe^ — 
and glared at the swaying shaft. Night had 
been turned into day in the twinkle of an eye. 
The whole country for miles around shone with 
noontime brilliancy. The boat drifted back into 



Beautiful Bath Avenue, Ashland, Kentucky. 





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THE EXPLOSION. 


145 


the channel some hundred feet or more before 
Henry realized what had happened. At that in- 
stant another boat appeared at the entrance. It 
lagged there for a short time ; long enough, how- 
ever, for him to see that it carried three passen- 
gers, Critendon Medley and two other men. They 
turned into the passage making for the still. 
Henry saw the folly of trying to pass them in such 
close quarters and retreated, hoping to reach the 
still unapprehended. This he did, barely having 
time to make fast the boat and disappear before 
Medley and his crew landed. 


CHAPTER XVL 


AN IMPARTIAL, TRIAL. 

ENRY went immediately to his sleep- 
ing room and rolled into his bunk. 
It was not long before he was aroused 
by one of the Shiners and told to 
appear at the still-room. He accompanied the 
man, and upon reaching the still-room was in- 
formed that: 

^‘Er meetin’ uv ther Dixie Shiners hed been 
called, fer ther descharge uv whatsoever business 
mout come erfore hit.” 

The Most Noble mounted an empty barrel, and 
by giving several gentle raps with the revolver 
muzzle on the barrel head brought the gang to 
order ; then said : 

“I nO'W declare this lodge uv Dixie Shiners 
truly open fer ther despatch uv all sich business, 
what-so-ever, ez mout come erfore her.” Ad- 
dressing himself to a man who held a memoran- 
dum book in his hand, he continued : “Most 



AN IMPARTIAL TRIAL. 


147 


Honorable Scribe, per-ceed ter de-claim ther per- 
ceedins uv tother meetin’ ’fore this un.” 

'‘Ther perceedins were der-claimed,” where- 
upon the Most Noble again spoke: 

“Has any new business app’ard on ther table fer 
ther perusal an’ rummigation uv this glorious 
instertution ?” 

“Thar ar’ er charge foch agin er member, Most 
Noble,” answered the “Honorable Scribe.” 

“Per-ceed ter declaim hit, thet ther gang may 
know ther natur uv hit,” responded the Most 
Noble. 

The honorable Scribe proceeded to declaim the 
charge : 

“Ter ther Most Noble an’ ther Most Honorable 
gang uv Dixie Shiners, greetin’ : Be hit known 
by all uv ye, thet I hev searched an’ perused an’ 
’vestigated ther char-ac-ter uv er brother Shiner; 
an’, in doleful numbers, do I solemnly an’ sincere- 
ly declar thet said member, ter-wit : Henry Thog- 
martin, (er what-so^ever his name mout be) ar’ 
nuthin’ more nur less than er Government spy! 
In con-sid-e-ration thar uv, I, in behalf uv ther 
Dixie Shiners, do pray er speedy trial an’ prompt 
exer-cution uv said member; er-cordin’ ter ther 
conster-tution uv this most noble instertution. 


148 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

“Witness my hand an’ seal, 
his 

Mace X Adkins, 
mark” 

A death-like silence only disturbed by the sput- 
ter of the boiling stills, followed the reading of the 
charge. At length the Most Noble addressed 
Henry : 

“A-proach, Brother Thogmartin, an’ stand fer 
trial.” Henry advanced and confronted the 
Most Noble, who continued : “Hand yer side 
arms ter ther Honerable Scribe.” Henry handed 
his revolver to the Scribe, the Most Noble went 
on, “Mr. Adkins, a-proach an’ tell in yer own 
way, this hyre gang, ther why’s an’ wharfores 
of this grave charge ergin Brother Thogmartin.” 

Adkins advanced and in his own way proceeded 
to give in his testimony “ergin Brother Thogmar- 
tin 

“Most Noble an’ Brother Shiners, ther Lord 
knows I haint nuthin ergin Brother Thogmartin ; 
an’ I wouldn’t do nuthin ter hurt him ur belittle 
’im fer ther world; but ther salvation uv this 
instertution depens on etarnal vigerlance. I'het 
bein ther case, I appinted myself ez er kind uv 
vigerlance committee uv one ter investergate an’ 
rumigate this hyre brother’s char-ac-ter ; an’, one 
day, drecklv arter that, I wuz up ter ther post 


AN IMPARTIAL TRIAL. 


149 


office what’s at Medley’s store, ye know, an’ Crit 
Medley wuz er readin’ er letter thet hed come ter 
ther Post Master, frum some woman in Bal-ter- 
more. Thet thar letter made inquirments arter 
ther wharebouts iiv thet woman’s son. Hit said 
ez ter how her boy wuz er Secret Sarvice man, an’ 
hed gone ter ther mountains uv Kaintucky ter 
hunt Moon-shiners, an’ ez ter how he hadn’t been 
hearn frum since; an’ hit went er head an’ de- 
scribed ’im ez bein’ spare made, an’ blue eyed an’ 
twenty three years old, an’ so on. Wa’al I jist 
thought to myself, while Crit wuz readin’, thet no 
tellin’ but what her ‘wandrin’ boy,’ ez she called 
’im, mout be campin, at ther Shiners’ Abode this 
very minit. So, I ups an’ gits Crit ter write ter 
her, fer me, makin’ more inquirments erbout ’im ; 
an’ tellin her ez ter how er man baring ther re- 
semblance uv her boy hed been seen in these parts ; 
an’ ter oblige me by sendin’ er picture uv her boy, 
an’ I’d endever in my feeble way, ter help her 
locate ’im; an’ she sent er full an’ complete rep- 
r’sentation uv ’im; an’ so fer ez I am able ter 
jedge, hit tallies ter er gnat’s ertention ter Brother 
Thogmartin; ’cept, she says hei boy’s name wuz 
Allen — Clifton Allen, ’nstead uv Thogmartin. 
So, Most Noble, thet’s erbout all ther is ter ther 
story; ’ceptin’ ther credent’als; an’ Brother Crit 


150 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUM HERE AN DS. 

Medley hez them, ez I hev told erbout an’ more 
too, an’ ken verify all I’ve said.” 

“Stand er side. Brother Adkins,” said the Most 
Noble. 

All eyes were turned upon Henry who stood 
leaning against a barrel, apparently as uncon- 
cerned as if there was nothing unusual going on. 
Not the slightest tremor displayed his emotions, 
but, as stolid as an Indian, he watched the blood 
curdling proceedings — each step to him a knell. 

“A-proach, Brother Medley,” commanded the 
Most Noble, “an’ pr’duce ther docements ter ther 
futherance uv this hyre trial.” 

Medley approached and handed the Most Noble 
a number of letters, and a photograph. The let- 
ters were examined and in purport found to be as 
Adkins had testified. Next the photograph was 
viewed, and, although Henry had grown a long 
shaggy beard, the picture bore a striking resem- 
blance to him. The Shiners crowded around ; the 
photograph was handed from one tO' another until 
all had looked at it. It was then returned to the 
Most Noble, who then directed his attention i>' 
Henry : 

“Brother Thogmartin,” he said, “what answer 
hev ye ter make ter this most gravous charge ?” 

Henry straightened himself up and looked de 
fiantlv at the Most Noble: 


AN IMPARTIAL TRIAL. 


i5l 


“It's a lie, every word ! I pronounce the whole 
affair a malicious concoction, emanating from the 
villainous brain of Crit Medley, and carried into 
effect by his tool and henchman, Mace Adkins," 
he answered calmly. 

Every body now looked at Medley and Adkins. 
Medley’s face was livid; and for a moment he 
shook with anger, then burst forth into a torrent 
of rage and rushed at Henry ; and with a terrible 
oath, cried : 

“Let me get to him ! Let me kill the spy !’’ 

“Order! Order!” thundered the Most Noble, 
Vvho was hammering the barrel viciously. Med- 
ley being restrained, order was again established. 

“Brethren,” began the Most Noble, “thes is er 
serious charge ergin ther brother an’ ef he ar 
found guilty, nothin’ short uv death will 
a’pease our wrath ergin ’im — death er’cordin’ ter 
ther penalty, stip^ur-lated in ther oblergation, shall 
be his punishment! But ez hit now stands ther 
evidence ar’ not conclusive ernuf ter justify sich 
masterful measures; in ez much ez ther offendin’ 
brother haint been fully i-den-ter-fied, ez ther 
man mentioned in ther letters. But ef ther pros- 
ecution kin produce ernuf more ev-edence ter 
qualify ther brother, beyant ther least centilir uv 
doubt; then do I say, fl??> traitor \ but not l>efore.” 


152 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 

After a brief silence he asked, ‘‘What sez ther 
urosicution ?” 

Medley cleared his throat and stammered : 

“Most Noble, — I have — abundant evidence — I 
have — I have — I have another — nother — letter 
that — that — that — that tells of a birthmark — of a 
birthmark on his — on his — shoulder.” 

“Fork over thet thar letter, Brother Medley, 
commanded the Most Noble. Medley handed 
him the letter which he read; after some hesita- 
tion, he exclaimed : 

“Strip yourself, Brother Thogmartin !” Henry 
looked at him cooly and replied : 

“This farce has gone far enough, if you fellows 
want to murder me, here I am — do it — I posi- 
tively refuse to strip myself. 

The Most Noble nervously drummed the barrel 
with his revolver, and, looking defiantly at Henry 
said : 

“Young man, we don’t stand fer no foolishness 
hyre. What I say goes ! Yer’ll either strip yer 
duds ur we’ll do' hit fer ye. Ye hev got jist three 
minits ter shed ’em in.” He took out his watch 
and holding it open, counted the time. Henry 
stared straight at the Most Noble never once 
taking his eyes from the man’s countenance. 

“One minute! Two minutes!” counted the 
Most Noble. A terrible silence followed. 


AN IMPARTIAL TRIAL. 


163 


“Three minutes!” he hissed. Henry made no 
movement toward disrobing. Another silence. 
The Most Noble was greatly excited. 

“Boys !” shouted he, “close in on him !” 

There followed a rush. They were at it. A 
man reeled and fell, sent down by a blow from 
H enry ; another went sprawling to the floor. 

“Shoot him I Kill him ! came from half a dozen 
of the excited crowd. Instantly a number of 
revolvers gleamed through the air. Two men 
clinched Henry and were bearing him to the floor. 

“Stop! Stop!” rang a command from the rear, 
the gang hesitated. 

”What ther hell does all thes mean?” stormed 
Sexton. Every man with a guilty look hung his 
head. 

“What’s up? I say; d — it, don’t ye hear me?” 

At last, the Most Noble found utterance, and 
tried to explain : 

“Er traitor in ther camp, Tobe, thet’s all; an’ 
we wuz givin’ ’im er fair an’ impartial trial.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


THE BATTEE in the cave. 

EXTON’S presence was very much 
unexpected; they thought him home 
in bed ; which he was until that great 
awakening flash (the flash that 
had astounded Henry as he emerged from the 
under ground passage) aroused him from his 
slumber. He has hurried to the scene, and found 
that a gas well, which was being drilled on his 
land, had caught fire when gas was struck. As 
soon as he was apprised of what had happened, 
he hurried to the still to tell the Shiners of the 
phenomenon ; thus makihg his timely appearance. 

“Who is it?” demanded Sexton. 

“Brother Thogmartin.” 

“Who said so?” 

“W’y Tobe,” replied the Most Noble, “ther 
charges wuz fetched by Brother Mace Adkins.” 

“Hits all er d — lie frum start ter finish!” 
cried Sexton in a rage. He grabbed one of the 




THE BATTLE IN THE CAVE. 


166 


men that held Henry down, and jerked him up and 
gave the other one a kick in the side. 

“Let thet boy up ur I’ll bore er hole through 
ye big ernuf ter throw er cat through,” com- 
manded Sexton. 

The man he had kicked raised with revolver in 
hand, and confronted him. 

“Hit’s ye, is hit. Grit Medley? I’m er notion 
ter blow yer d — cowardly head off! Ye’r up 
ter yer old game, ar’ ye?” Sexton demanded, fin- 
gering queerly at his revolver stock. 

“Come on, boy,” said the old man, taking 
Henry by the arm and starting to lead him away. 
As Henry started. Medley sprang in front of 
Sexton and angrily exclaimed : 

“Stand back!” then in a more subdued tone 
went on, “you shall not take Thogmartin away 
from us !” 

“I will !” stormed Sexton. 

“Then it will be over my dead body,” said Med- 
ley more emphatically. Sexton shoved Medley 
back, and started, pulling Henry after him. 
Medley’s revolver flashed through the air. Hen- 
ry sprang between them. 

“Hold! Hold!” he shouted. Medley lowered 
his revolver; the gang in wonderment gazed at 
them. 


156 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

Henry turned, facing Sexton, his back to Med- 
ley, and in a solemn way said : 

“Mr. Sexton, go away and leave me to my 
fate ! God knows I love you too well to see you 
lose your life for me!” 

Tears streamed down the old man’s withered 
cheeks ; his frame trembled. He threw his arms 
around Henry’s neck and, with his head resting on 
the young man’s shoulder, wept. His hat fell to 
the floor and his silvery locks glistened in the 
flickering gas-light. It was a trying moment! 
Heart throbs could be heard; the silence was 
awful. At length, Sexton pulling himself away 
from Henry brushed the tears from his eyes, and 
with his hand resting on the young man’s shoul- 
der said : 

“Boy, I love ye same ez I do my leetle girl, 
yander at home sleepin’ peacefully in her bed, an’ 
I’d die fer ye ez quick ; but, tell me, my boy, tell 
me ther truth. Ef ye’r er sneak, hit’ll break my 
ole heart; but tell me ther truth, boy, ar’ ye er 
spy?” 

How imposing the scene. The old man, totter- 
ing on the brink of the grave — white haired and 
pallid as death itself with his hand resting on the 
youth’s shoulder, imploring him to tell the truth 
— to read his own death sentence. 

Like a noble Roman, with his right hand raised 


TEE BATTLE IN THE CAVE. 


157 


to the high heavens, Henry Thogmartin, in a voice 
that smote every ear — that chilled the very blood 
of every one of his guilty auditors — said: 

“MR. SEXTON ! DIXIE SHINERS ! 
HEAR ME! I AM A UNITED STATES 
SECRET SERVICE MAN, AND I AM 
PROUD OF IT— EVEN THOUGH YOU 
KILL ME! 

A mutter arose; the cry of “Kill him! Shoot 
him!” came from a dozen throats. 

Crit Medley’s revolver gleamed! A flash! 
Two shots almost at once echoed through the 
old cavern, tolling the knell of the Dixie 
Shiners. 

Critendon Medley sank to the ground. Tobe 
Sexton reeled and fell against a still. Some one 
gently eased him down and laid them together on 
the floor. When the smoke had cleared away 
Henry had vanished. 

“He’s gone ! Ther spy’s gone !” cried a number 
of voices at once. 

A panic followed. Men rushed wildly in every 
direction ; some to the sleeping-room, some to the 
feast-chamber, others to the boat landing. Henry 
was in a canoe trying to loosen it. Three men 
rushed up and dragged him out. A bloody 
fight followed. A revolver fell from a belt. 
Henry grabbed it. Twice it spoke. Two men 


158 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

fell. The torch rolled into the stream and v^eni 
out. The place was wrapped in darkness. The 
shots brought a dozen more men to the scene. 
Henry rushed like a streak at the torch bearer 
and hurled him backward into the channel. Then 
they fought in the darkness. 

A swinging lick on the head with the barrel of 
a revolver sent Henry to the floor. 

The blood trickled down his cheeks. “Bring er 
torch,” shouted some one. Henry tried to crawl 
away, but was too weak. His last hope was 
gone! The man was coming with a torch. He 
closed his eyes and murmured a prayer, awaiting 
death. 

“SURRENDER! THROW UP YOUR 
HANDS!” thundered a voice. 

The Shiners wheeled and found themselves 
looking into the muzzles of a row of rifles, and 
facing a rank of Deputy United States Marshals. 
A battle followed. The cavern rang with shots. 
The Shiners grew panic stricken and fled like rats, 
deeper into the great cave, where they rallied and 
fought like demons. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

“l HAVE BEEN DREADING THIS.” 

HE noise, or perhaps, the stifling 
smell of burnt gun powder aroused 
Henry. ‘‘Thank Heavens my let- 
ter did its work,” he muttered, 
as he crawled to the edge of the stream and in the 
iced water bathed his aching head and washed the 
blood from his face. He had now regained suffi- 
cient strength to get into a boat, which he rowed 
up the channel, leaving the officers and shiners 
still fighting. 

“When I think it all over — think of all that has 
happened since I came here, it seems more like 
some strange bit of fiction than the truth,” he so- 
liloquized as he hurried the boat along. 

When he reached the outside he hastened on to 
the Sexton’s home. 

As he approached the house he could see 
through the uncurtained window. Lady and Aunt 
Mandy sitting by the fire. He knew they were 



160 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLAND8. 

waiting for the old man to return and explain the 
cause of the great light. 

His heart failed him as he thought, “How can 
I ever break the sad news to them? Poor inno- 
cent souls, how peacefully they are waiting for the 
foot-steps they never again shall hear — the loved 
one they never again, in life shall see.” 

For a while he stood watching them, then sum- 
moning all his courage he stepped upon the gallery 
and entered the house. The old woman turned 
and gazed at him in horror ; his bleeding wounds 
and bloody face, made him appear ghastly. Lady 
sprang to her feet, wringing her hands. 

“My God! I have been dreading this!” she 
exclaimed. 

Aunt Mandy rushed to Henry and between 
sobs, cried : 

“Fer ther love uv heaven, chile, ar’ ye killed? 
Ye ar’ Weedin’ ter death by inches. Who done 
hit? Who killed ye?” and without waiting for 
an answer, went on : “Set down thar, an’ I’ll 
fotch cloths an’ water an’ dress yer head.” The 
old woman went out, and the young man stepped 
nearer to Lady, who was weeping, and said : 

“Calm yourself ; do not give way to grief ; T 
have bad news for you.” The girl stood with her 
eyes calmly fixed on him. “Your father is at the 



“A HAPPY THRONG GATHERED AT AsHLAND’S FiRST 
Presbyterian Church that day.” 



/ HAVE BEEN DREADING THIS. 


161 


still, badly hurt,” he went on. Lady without a 
word left the room. 

The old woman returned bringing water and 
bandages and proceeded to dress Henry’s wounds. 

In a few minutes Lady returned heavily 
dressed, as for a journey through the cold and 
snow. Turning to her Aunt she said : 

‘‘Father is hurt, I am going to him.” 

“My heavens. Girl! you don’t intend to go to 
the cave do you?” exclaimed Henry, greatly ex- 
cited. 

“I do,” she answered. 

“You must not think of doing such a rash 
thing ; they are fighting like mad-dogs in the cave. 
The Deputy-Marshals have come,” he explained. 

The old woman sunk to the floor and began to 
wail loudly. The girl fixed her gaze on the young 
man and coolly asked : 

“Will you go with me, or must I go alone?” 

“I will go with you, if you zvill go; but think 
of the danger ! you risk your life by such a step,” 
he said. 

She did not heed him but went on her way to 
the cave. He followed her. 

It was day break. A cold and cutting north 
wind met them and hurled a wreath of drifting 
snow into their faces. Melancholy bleakness over 
spread the landscape; Mother Earth held not a 


162 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

smile to cheer them. The snow weighted bushes 
bowed along their path like gray haired men with 
uncovered heads in presence of a funeral train. 
Thus nature deepened the gloom that already 
clouded their hearts, while in silent dejection they 
passed on to the mouth of the channel, where, in 
the boat that Henry had concealed in the bushes, 
they drifted into the great black throat of the 
chasm. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A BURNING secret. 

HIS was Lady Sexton’s first visit 
to her father’s strange resort. The 
somber surroundings were in keeping 
with her heart, which was shroud- 
ed in sadness. To attempt a description of the 
soul-harrowing thoughts of the poor girl, as she 
glided on deeper and deeper into the awful black- 
ness, would be to expose the weakness of imagina- 
tion to flaunt the poverty of language. 

As they reached the landing, a faint flickering 
light was seen in the still-room, and the murmur 
of voices broke the toml>like silence. 

They stepped from the boat, and made their 
way to the still-room. A horrible sight awaited 
them. On the floor, in a row like logs, lay the 
bodies of eight dead men. Around them huddled 
the subdued Shiners who were handcuffed togeth- 
er and guarded. A squad of officers sat on bar- 



164 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

rels, with their guns across their laps. It was a 
gruesome Wake. 

How Lady Sexton could ever stand the trials 
of this terrible ordeal is beyond explanation. 

Away from the dead, farther on to the rear of 
the room, with his head resting on a roll of 
blankets, lay Sexton. When Lady saw him she 
flew to his side and, kneeling, covered his face 
with kisses. 

Two long arms raised above the girl, then lov- 
ingly enfolded her in a fond embrace. 

“Thank God, he is not dead,” muttered Henry. 

“Raise me up so I kin talk some ter ye erfore 
I die,” said the old man feebly. Henry placed 
his arm around Sexton’s shoulders and sustained 
him while he talked. 

“My daughter,” he began, “I must leave ye, T 
hev been called home ; an’ hit makes my old heart 
bleed ter go erway, where I never kin see ye ergin ; 
ter leave ye without er pertecter !” 

‘‘She will never he without a protector as long 
as I live” Henry assured the dying man in tones 
too sincere tO' be doubted. 

“Thank ther Lord! I kin now die happy.” 
He put his arms around his daughter and drew 
her to him, and pressed her to his bosom. After 
a brief silence, he went on : “My children, I rec- 
erlect no happier time in my life than this, my 


A BURNING SECRET. 


IB'S 

dyin’ hour. I hev long treasured er hope thet ere 
I passed erway, ther unfinished love uv her, thet 
has fer years burned in my bosom, ez constant ez 
ther gas thet burns under yonder still would some 
day kindle in ther breasts uv ye children er blaze 
uv ever lastin’ love fer each other; now, thet T 
know my hopes — my prayers — ar’ ter be answer- 
ed, let me die!” There was not one present who 
was not weeping. The simple and honest words 
of the old man went straight to their hearts ; and 
they strained their ears to catch every murmur. 
With an effort Sexton feebly raised his voice 
again : 

“My children, all my earthly belongin’s will fall 
ter ye ; take hit an’ try ter bury ther disgrace ole 
Tobe hes brought on yer innercent heads. I trust 
ter ye ter see thet yer Aunt Mandy shall never 
need fer nuthin’. Give her ther ole home place, 
an’ ye, children, move erway frum ther moun- 
tains; Sandy County folks’ll never be rec’nsiled 
ter Thogmartin livin’ ermone ’em. Tell Mandy 
ter take good care uv ther hounds; an’, tell her 
good-bye fer me. Daughter, hev me buried down 
in ther orchard; lay me beside yer pore dead 
mother ; plant er rose vine over my body like ther 
one ye planted over hers. Some warm day when 
ther flowers ar’ bloomin’, bring my ole fiddle down 
ter my grave an’ play some uv them sweet, ole- 


16G m THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 

time tunes — ther ones I love so well. Noav, my 
children, nothin’ is left unsaid, ’cept ter bless ye 
both an’ say good-bye; an’ then depart with er 
memory uv ther joys thet ar’ gone, ter jine my 
darlin’ Mary, who is callin’ me frum heaven. 
Children, will ye meet us up thar ? It is growin’ 
dark, ther gas is burnin’ low: yer forms I kin 
hardly see; I hear ther hounds yelpin’ on ther 
mountain-side, let me go ter ’em. All is light 
now ; yes, thar is Mary — ^beckonin’ me ter heaven 
— I must go! Wait Mary, wait er minit longer! 
I can’t come ter ye with this terrible burnin’ secret 
gnawin’ at my heart. Listen children, heed me 
while I tell ye an awful thing: When I’m dead, 
go yander ter ther left wing uv ther cave, push 
through ter Dead Man’s Crevice until yer come ter 
er crack in ther passage floor; hits too wide ter 
jump ercross, but lay er puncheon over hit an’ go 
on an’ ye’ll come ter er iron door. Hits locked 
an’ barred, hard an’ fast, but Mace Adkins totes 
ther key. Make him open hit. Thar ye’ll find — ” 
his voice broke and failed him ; “Mary, I’m corn- 
in’ !” he gasped. His head fell forward ; his chin 
rested on his breast. The old man was dead. 


CHAPTER XX. 


swift's SII.VFR MINES. 

N obedience tO' Sexton’s dying com- 
mand, Mace Adkins was forced to 
guide a searching party, led by Coon 
Mann and a number of officers, into 
the left wing of the cave. Lady, under the pro- 
tection of several Deputy-Marshals who stayed to 
guard the prisoners, remained with her dead. 
The journey through ‘'Dead Man’s Crevice” was 
attended with a series of disagreeable experiences. 
This passage gradually contracted to a ser- 
pentine way, until the walls were only eighteen or 
twenty inches apart; numerous elbows were en- 
countered, while the distance from the footing to 
the ledge overhead was, at some points, not more 
than four feet. The rocky sides were nicely 
grained with waves and ripples, having the ap- 
pearance of petrified running water. This wind- 
ing way was suddenly arrested by an abyss which 
stopped further exploration until a puncheon was 



168 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLAND8. 

procured and utilized to bridge the gap. The 
passage then quickly widened into a hall ; which, 
Mace Adkins explained, led to the lost “Swift’s 
Silver Mines.” 

The rescuing party pressed on until the iron 
door confronted them. Adkins applied the key 
and threw back the bars. A hair-raising creak 
followed, as the massive door swung on its rusty 
bearings. 

As they entered the silver chamber, a tiny light 
could be seen far in the distance. A madman’s 
shriek telling too plainly its story of days and 
nights of misery ; yes, its months and years of in- 
human torture, reverberated through the dreary 
waste of darkness and fell upon their ears. 

Adkins, in advance of the party, with torch 
high above his head, moved cautiously across the 
marshy surface of the intervening expanse. The 
ground here, unlike that of any other part of the 
cave, was broken by numerous trickling brooklets 
which wound gently through a mat of soft, hair- 
like fungi; forming an almost impassable bog. 
Throughout this ebon court, there hung an atmos- 
phere peculiar to the gruesome environs — an at- 
mosphere possessing no affinity with the whole- 
some, sunlit air of Heaven, but an atmosphere 
reeked up by the putrification of dead reptiles, 
decayed vegetation, and the green slimy scum of 


SWIFT’S SILVER MINES. 


169 


the morass — a noxious pestilential vapor, cadaver- 
ous, sluggish and intensely oppressive. 

At a point, somewhere near midway, between 
the entrance and the glimmering light on ahead, 
a bleached and ghastly human skeleton crouched, 
half hidden, half revealed, before them. With a 
shudder they passed it by and pressed onward. 
The next appalling guardsman to challenge them 
was a mad-man, who, in demoniacal frenzy, hurl- 
ed a staggering volley of vituperative oaths upon 
their heads, as he struggled with seemingly, sup- 
erhuman strength, tO' break from the chains that 
shackled him to the spot. The rescuers advanced 
to within a few feet of the poor wretch ; when he 
suddenly assumed a bearing of pomposity, and 
loftily acclaimed, “Advance, vanquished heroes; 
present unto your gallant victor the sword of the 
fallen Confederacy ! Behold ! I am General 
Grant!’’ 

The “General,” like the skeleton, was given a 
wide berth, and left madly urging his imaginary 
followers to charge upon the flying enemy. 

They went on. 

At last the footing became more substantial: 
a gradual elevation brought them onto a dry and 
dusty table-rock, where the atmosphere became 
much rarer, losing the humidity of the fen. This 
atmospheric change was, no doubt, brought 


170 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAND8. 

about by a fissure in the cavern wall which ad- 
mitted, from the subterranean channel of Devil 
Creek, a current of fresh air. 

Now, no' more than a hundred yards away, 
glowed that phantasmagoric camp-fire, which had 
lured them across the bog; and around it huddled 
three human forms; while, above the sonorous 
tread of the oncomers, resounded from the morass 
the inhuman wailing shrieks of that poor mortal 
wreck anchored out in that venemous sea, to be 
dashed to atoms against the shorn walls of rea- 
son’s blinded pharos by the raging of his own 
tempetuous intellect. 

To the three martyred souls that stood by their 
one solace — the glimmering gas-light — that lapse 
of time, those moments of suspense, were surely 
moments of ponderous bewilderment. It would 
be only to> stupefy one’s faculties, to try, even 
slightly, to imagine or comprehend the thoughts 
of those long-suffering mortals, as they beheld 
the officers slowly approaching them, from an un- 
frequented region — from the uncanny field of hell 
— perhaps they thought, unable as they were, to 
divine whether it was the heralds of death, or 
the harbingers of emancipation who sought to 
invade their miasmatic donjon-keep. 

Then call to mind if you can, a train of thoughts 
similar to those of Henry, as he trudged the slush 


SWIFrS SILVER MINES. 


171 


and slime of the marsh; try to imagine his feel- 
ings as he surveyed the grinning skull and ghastly 
bones of the skeleton; or, when he, in ter^-or, 
tinged with compassion, looked upon the agoniz- 
ing maniac battling with his manacles. Doubt- 
less Henry wondered if either of these, the skel- 
eton or the mad-man, was the woeful remains of 
George Allen — his father. Perhaps he mused, 
“If so, I pray to God, it be the one whose soul 
has slipped the shackles of this malignant prison.” 

Mere words are inadequate to portray the har- 
rowed fancies — the ravished senses ol, Henry, 
as, one after the other, the appalling phenomena 
of that terrible night appeared before his frenzied 
vision. The question uppermost in his mind was, 
“Can one of these poor wretches be my father? 
If so, will I recognize him?” But, as he gazed 
upon those beings ol weird strangeness, who by 
this time confronted their liberators, he fully com- 
prehended the absurdity of such a thought. 
For surely man was never before the embodiment 
of a creature more foreign to simple humanity. 
It was impossible for Henry to identify one fea- 
ture, or lineament of the wan beings before him, 
in common with those of his father. In fact little 
more than their bodily contour held any semblance 
akin to that of human. A heavy growth of long 
silken hair floated over their faces. Their beard 


172 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

long and sweeping, like their hair in color, pre- 
sented a lustrous silvery whiteness, as if it had 
borrowed its hue from the crucible of molten 
metal hard by, which, in dancing ripples, spark- 
led under the torch light. Liquid eyes exceed • 
ingly luminous, beamed from their cadaverous 
portals a devilish glare that struck every spectator 
with awe. The ears, nose and hands were gloved 
in the same silvery filaments. While the finger- 
nails curved over the tips, sharpening into animril- 
like claws. Their raiment was similar to that 
worn by the Shiners. Rip Van Winkle in his 
dotage would have afforded little conception of 
extreme old age, in comparison with these mumi- 
fied dwellers of this subterraneous spot. They 
presented an appearance of antiquity quite in- 
credible. 

Coon Mann imparted to them the glad intelli- 
gence : 

“Gentlemen, at last, your liberators have come ; 
you are now free men.” 

“Thank God! Thank God!” they cried. 

“Our years of patient prayers were not in vain.” 

After a brief silence one of the captives asked, 
“What led to our discovery?” 

Mann pointed to Henry, who' stood by his side, 
and replied, “This young detective, Mr. Clifton 
Allen came — ” 


SWIFT’S SILVER MINES. 


173 


“My son ! My darling Cliff ! I knew you would 
some day come and rescue me!” cried the spokes- 
man, as he threw up his arms pleadingly and fell 
to his knees, weeping, in front of Henry, who 
stooped and pressed a loving kiss on the happy old 
man’s brow. 

After a pathetic scene they left the place, with 
Adkins at the head of the van and re-trod the 
dismal quagmire. The mad-man was released 
and taken into custody; but not until they had 
humored his phantasmal conjecture that he was 
General Grant, and allowed him to march with 
Mace Adkins, would he quit his death stand. 

After a time, they passed from the marsh out 
into the entrance of Dead Man’s Crevice. Adkins 
handed Henry the torch, while he busied himself 
in barring the door. As the ponderous shutter 
swung tOi, forever hiding from their view the 
loathsome bog, a sigh of relief went up from 
George Allen and his survivors. 

Henry, having the torch in hand, now uncon- 
sciously assumed the guidance, and advanced into 
the crevice. Adkins was next in line ; immediate- 
ly following him came the “Mad General” chuck- 
ling exultantly, and, all the while affectionately 
patting Adkins on the back. 

Things went well until the abyss was reached. 
Henry passed over and held the light for the 


174 IN TEE SHADOW OF THE CUMBEHLANDS. 

others. It was thought best that Adkins should 
grasp the “Generars"’ wrist, and assist him in 
crossing the narrow bridge. The lunatic follow- 
ed with alacrity until he stood midway over the 
pit. Then, evidently, for the first, he took note 
of his perilous surroundings; for an instant he 
halted, peering intently down into the sullen 
depth. A low laugh of utter distress issued from 
his lips, and, as he glanced back over his shoulder 
at his followers, his eyes strangely gleamed, as if 
the contemplation of some fiendish prank gam- 
boled through his maddened brain. “Come on, 
fool,’’ sharply commanded Adkins, giving the 
“General” an angry jerk. Instantly, and witli ail 
the diabolical fury of an enraged lion, the maniac 
hurled himself forward, locking his arms about 
Adkin’s neck. For a few painful seconds they 
swayed, back and forth, over the awful precipice ; 
then like a falling tree, toppled head-long, dov^n, 
down, down, into the sickening gulf. A fiendish 
cry, “Ha! Ha! He! He! He!” in hair raising 
intonations, echoed from the hungry abyss. The 
sable portals closed over their spectral tomb. A 
short interval of torturing silence broken only by 
a low melancholy exclamation, is weir was 
the only response to the marrow-congealing spec- 
tacle ; and again the horror stricken train resumed 
its dismal tread through the crevice. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


''THISRIC he: rests.'' 


FEW hours later, strong men bore 
the form of Sexton to his mountain 
home. The winter winds whispered 
sadly through the swaying pines 
that stood about the old log house. 

The snow had been brushed from a little hillock 
down in the orchard and beside it rounded the 
}’ellow earth of a new made grave. 

There he rests— in the shadow of the Cum- 
berlands. 

Should you ever travel the old river road to 
the “Gap,” look to the left after passing Levica. 
There you will see reaching heavenward a solitary 
shaft of marble. If pity or wonder further inter- 
est awakens, approach and read this simple legend 
graven on the stone from some lines found in 
Henry Thogmartin’s diary: 




176 IHf THE SHADOW OF THE 0UMBERLAND8. 

THEY CALLED HIM A MOONSHINER. 

His wealth was great as Monte Carlo’s 
But he destined to ignore it. 

The sputter of the still — his inspiration 
And oft’ he would implore it. 

The violin was his God; 

Music his religion. 

He scorned the government, 

And held the law in little less derision. 

Pray, delve no deeper, his excellencies to disclose. 

Or frailties to uncover; 

But list to the leaves o’er head, 

As they murmur to each other: 

He was as tender hearted as a child. 

As sympathetic as a mother. 

When Mrs. Wilson, the lady with whom Lady 
Sexton had made her home while attending school 
in Ashland, heard of the poor girl’s bereavement, 
she went straight to her side and comforted her 
through the trying hours that followed. After 
the last sad rites had been performed, that gentle 
woman would hear tO' nothing short of a promise 
from Lady to accept a home with her ; and with a 
sad and sorrowful heart, Lady, a month later, 
bade good-bye to Aunt Mandy, and turned away 
from the home of her infancy and the graves of 
her parents. 

A distant relative of the Sexton’s, a young 
man who had just married, gladly accepted Aunt 
Mandy ’s offer to share the old home with him. 

There she still lives. 

True to her character she continues to pursue 



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THERE. HE RESTS. 


177 


the quaintness of her way : In spring-time watch- 
ing for the dark of the moon, “ther best time ter 
drap taters,” or, for the light of the moon, “ther 
best time ter plant beans.” In summer, busying 
herself in manufacturing her famous ginger cakes 
and sweet cider, “fer ther fourth uv July,” or, 
later, in picking black berries from the briars that 
abound thickest in Sandy County; in autumn, in 
turning the great yellow pumpkins into golden 
butter; and, when the cold bleak days of winter 
come, and the snow in ghostly wreaths is hurled 
past the window, and the chilling blast is howling 
round the old log house; when the hickory log 
sings on the open fire place, and the cricket steals 
out on the hearth, — it is then that the kind hearted 
old soul sits in the warm corner, knitting a sock 
to match one that was finished another winter — 
for a foot that is gone. A tear glides down her 
wrinkled cheek — she is thinking of Sexton — The 
Moonshiner. 

s|« * * * >t« 

The survivors of the Dixie Shiners were es- 
corted to C , where followed the formalities 

of that sage tribunal, the United States District 
Court. After sentence, a straggling gang of 
mountaineers filed from the court-room. A 
young woman dressed in homespun, carrying a 
baby in her arms, followed them to the corridor 


178 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CXJMBERLANDS. 

of the jail. A stout rugged fellow hesitated at 
the entrance, and turned to the woman, “Don’t go 
in,” he said and started on. 

“Won’t you kiss me. Bill?” she pleaded with 
tears streaming down her face. He stooped and 
impatiently pressed his lips to hers and whispered, 
“Don’t let the ’ungin fergit me, Annie, I’ll be 
home in six months, an’ by ther time ther milk’s 
dry in ther com I’ll hev er fire blazin’ under 
ernother moonshine still.” 

“Walk along,” called the turnkey, and down 
the dismal hall-way to their cells passed the fol- 
lowers of Sexton. 

An iron door swung tO' with a heavy clang. 
The woman with the baby suppressed a sob, and 
turned sadly from the jail. 

For the time being only is the fate of those 
entombed wretches sealed. A six months hence 
will find them swaggering homeward. They will 
follow each other, Indian fashion, along the old 
mountain road. “Once a Shiner always such,” 
has been said with much truth. No sooner is he 
free from prison than ways and means for addi- 
tional operation are swiftly set in motion. 

So extensive is this fraud that in 1901 Uncle 
Sam sustained a loss of $1,500,000. The illicit 
distiller’s profit is more than one thousand per 
cent, when disposing of his product at one dollar 


THERE HE RESTS. 


179 


and fifty cents per gallon, about one third what the 
legal distiller gets for the same thing. On every 
gallon of moonshine Uncle Sam is fleeced to the 
extent of one dollar and ten cents. 

George Allen and his companions, as soon as 
their health would permit, set out for their respec- 
tive homes. 

Clifton gave every attention to his father who 
within a fortnight was restored to his family. 

It was learned from George Allen and his com- 
panions that they had been captured by the Med- 
le)^s eight years before, and placed in that loath- 
some dungeon and forced by threats of death to 
mine from their prison walls the silver quartz; 
which by the use of a small natural gas smelter 
was reduced to metal. After a considerable 
amount of the silver bullion had accumulated it 
was moulded into coin of three denominations — 
quarters, halves and dollars. This spurious mon- 
ey was shoved into circulation through Medley’s 
store, whence they received their supply of cloth- 
ing and food. 

Soon after the annihilation of the Dixie Shiners, 
Cave No. 432, Clifton Allen, the detective, was 
sent to New Mexico. Here, a band of counter- 
feiters had been operating in a most succesful 
manner for several years. So far all efforts to 
apprehend them had been futile, but Allen’s recent 


180 m THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAHDS. 

success in the mountains of Kentucky had so en- 
couraged the Service that they now believed it 
only a question of time, and not a long time either, 
until this band of outlaws would also be extermi- 
nated. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


HAI^IvOWE'EN in asheand. 

LMOST two years had passed since 
Lady Sexton left the mountains. To 
her they had been fraught with 
wonderful changes. Already the 
giant hand of commerce was steering that mighty 
craft — Progress — over a flood-tide of develop- 
ments, into the treasure hidden mountains of San- 
dy County; two railroads were battling for su- 
premacy of right-of-way through the rich “Sex- 
ton Coal Fields,’’ as the Moonshiner’s broad acres 
were known. The gigantic gas well had flamed 
away for more than a year in its uncontrolable 
fury; lighting up the country at night for more 
than a score of miles round about, as radiant as 
the noon day. That is not all it had done. It 
had attracted Capital’s omnipotent eye; and, by 
its mystic charms, the noble forests, the hills of 
cannel coal, the valleys of hissing gas and seeping 
kerosene, were turned into rivers of gold. Abound- 




182 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLANDS. 

ing gas wells now marked the landscape. The 
fields of broom sedge were gone. The timid hare 
had moved tO' quarters more remote. 

Down the Sandy valley, tracing the border of 
Kentucky and West Virginia, onward tO' the 
Ohio, stretches a pipe line through which jour- 
neys incessantly millions of cubic feet of the 
Moonshiner’s natural gas, while throughout the 
Triple-State district, in city, hamlet and home, 
in mills, factories and furnaces, no other fuel is 
used. In truth, we have but to turn and here 
before us, warming us as we write, contentedly 
blazes the same vein of gas that once boiled the 
mash in Sexton’s moonshine stills. 

Through the skillful management of a Mr. 
Hagerson, an attorney, and an old friend of the 
Sexton’s, Lady Sexton had realized a fortune, in 
fact a price' little less than fabulous, amounting 
in round numbers to more than $500,000, for the 
oil and gas privileges alone, of her estate. While 
the remaining timber, coal and other mineral in- 
terests had enhanced her capital until she was, 
many times a millionaire. 

The fame of the wealthy mountain girl was 
spread through the land ; reporters were eager to 
get bits of her history, that they might weave 
them on fiction’s nimble loom intoi some glittering 
romance ; her suitors were numbered by the score ; 


IIALLOWE^EN IN ASHLAND. 


183 


no ball or reception of Ashland’s elite was thought 
of any consequence unless the beautiful Miss Sex- 
ton was there ; her photographs appeared in many 
of the public papers with long accounts of her 
wealth and rare beauty ; and her name, within a 
few hundred miles of Ashland, was the topic of 
general comment, in hotel-lobby, in office, and 
store, church and hall — everywhere one would go, 
in that vicinity, they would hear people eulogiz- 
ing the beauty or fortune of Lady Sexton. But, 
if all this great publicity was noted by her, no 
one ever knew it ; she always bore the same sweet 
disposition so true to: the girl we have known, 
when she was only the “Shiner’s daughter.” 

In the early evening of an October day in 1900, 
Lady Sexton sat in the rich oid-fashioned parlor 
of Mrs. Wilson’s Bath Avenue home. Darkness 
had stolen in unnoticed; the soft glowing fire in 
the grate, shed a mellow tinted light which blend- 
ed sweetly with the pink of her cheeks. She was 
alone. It was Hallowe’en; grotesque jack-o 
lanterns beamed their ghastly grin from every 
crook and cranny along Ashland’s spacious ave- 
nues. Small boys in delirous Indian revel danced 
around burning hillocks of autumn tinted leaves. 
The little French clock, with its subdued strike 
was chiming the hour of six. 


184 IN THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBEBLANDS. 

‘‘Just an hour since he left,” she mused, “Mr. 
Richards is so handsome, so nice too ! I am sorry 
he proposed. Oh, I wish he had never seen me ! 
or, that he thought less of me. I know he was 
sorely disappointed by my refusal. How it 
grieved me to tell him 'no!' Now, Mrs. Wilson 
will be displeased with me; only last night she 
said: 'Lady, Mr. Richards is profoundly in 

earnest ; he loves you 1 How can you disappoint 
him ? He is so kind, so generous, so noble. Many 
girls would not refuse him, even tho’ he were pen- 
niless; think of it, my child; think of all his 
wealth. Why, your fortunes combined would be 
invincible!’ When in answer, I only shook my 
head, I could see that she was piqued. Sorrow- 
fully she turned away and left me. Bless her, 
she has been a mother to me; it troubles me to 
spoil her pretty plan ; but, one knows her 
own heart best.” Thus Lady sat meditatively 
gazing into the fire’s ruddy glow. A throng of 
leaping fire-elves danced merrily in and out, up 
and down, through the flickering flames. As she 
watched them in their antics, the unseen hand of 
Memory began to slowly shift within her view, 
like a passing panorama, pictures of the past. 
Many of them were dim, and others barely dis- 
cernable; but each succeeding vision was more 


EALLOWWEUi IN ASHLAND. 


185 


oefined until at last, as vivid as a painting they 
stood out on the golden back-ground. 

Each departed pleasure, sorrow, playmate and 
friend came in turn and greeted her. Many of 
them she fain would have hurried along but they 
all passed with the same monotonous drag. Ah ! 
at last there came a scene that she was loth to 
lose; a family group, on the gallery, at her old 
home; she could see Aunt Mandy, her father, 
Henry, and herself. Henry was playing the vio^ 
lin. The picture was so real that she could hear 
the strains of music echoing on and on through 
the woodland. The panorama turns another scene ; 
it brings a shudder. She shuts her eyes to exclude 
it; but. No! Memory has no lids. She sees her- 
self on the verge of Buzzard Roost Cliffs. “It is 
that awful night brought back again,” she mur- 
murs. She sees the lightning flash across the 
gulch. Sees the swaying pines and hears the 
beating rain. Then comes the battle, the rescue 
of Henry, and the flight homeward. Then, Sweet 
supplants the Bitter: She is seated on a moss 
covered stone; Henry is standing in front of her 
ti ying to express his deep gratitude for her heroic 
service. But, instead, he bursts into tears and 
falls to his knees before her and declares his love I 
A halo of joy obscures the picture; her head is 
resting on his shoulder; she fancies she feels his 


186 IN THE SHADOW OF THE GUMBERLANDS. 

Strong embrace and hears his loving words whis- 
pered into her ear : “Darling,” he is saying, “1 
love you ! You have filled my heart with gladness 
ever since I first saw you ! Sweetheart, will you 
be my wife?” and audibly she murmured, “Yes/’ 
The panorama was gone. “Cruel fate has kept us 
apart,” she murmured. 

Almost a year had passed since she had heard 
from him, but what mattered that? She would 
wait a dozen years if need be. She loved him. 
That told the whole story. When he did return 
to her, he would find her waiting faithfully. 
“What if he is dead, is dead?” questioned the 
wind that murmured down the chimney, “Then I 
will meet him in heaven,” she answered aloud. 

Her revery was broken by a sharp ring of the 
door-bell. She waited for some one to answer 
but no one came; again it rang. “I will answer 
it myself,” she thought, and from the dimly light- 
ed parlor she stepped out under the full radiance 
of the hall chandelier. Her beauty was enraptur- 
ing, as she stood in evening dress with her beau- 
tifully rounded arm extended to turn the bolt. 
The door swung noiselessly open ; a familiar form 
passed over the threshold. 

“Henry!” 

“Lady!” 


HALLOWE*EN IN ASHLAND. 


187 


The door closed on the outer darkness, and the 
lovers were locked in a fond embrace. 

“And, you have come at last,” said Lady, lead- 
ing the way to the parlor ; “I can scarcely realize 
that it is not a Hallowe'en joke.” 

Two short months had swiftly glided by since 
that blissful reunion. Christmas bells were pro- 
claiming their glad tidings — “Peace on earth, 
good will to men.” A happy throng gathered at 
Ashland’s First Presbyterian Church that day. 

At high noon some one touched the organ. 
Two fond hearts leaped in response to those ever 
touching strains of Mendelssohn’s. Then, down 
the aisle floated the sacred words that bound them 
to each other for life. 

Lady looked sweetly at her husband and whis- 
pered, “He called yoii Clifton, but, I shall always 
call you Henry.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


AM ONE OE THEM."" 

M MEDIATELY after the wedding, 
our young friends left for Baltimore, 
where they remained with Clifton’s 
family until the first balmy days of 
spring. Then they visited Washington, Philadel- 
phia and New York; after a short stay at the 
latter place, they took passage for Europe. 

It was a fine day in May when they sailed. As 
the last trace of land faded from view and they 
beheld themselves afloat on the mighty Atlantic, 
with not a tree or mountain or strip of earth any 
where to* be seen, a strange delight filled their 
souls ; but as they thought of the past, thought of 
their friends in the Big Sandy Valley, and of the 
unknown ahead, a sensation of mingled fear and 
pleasure and melancholy sadness came, like some 
gloomy foreboding, and hovered about them. 




I AM ONE OF THEM. 


189 


Lady nestled a little nearer to her husband and 
with eyes softly overflowing with tears, gave him 
a tender look as she asked : 

“Dearest, what would Aunt Mandy say if she 
were here?” 

His only answer was to take her in his arms 
and kiss away the starting tears. 

In due time they landed at Plymouth, England. 
They next went to London, remaining there until 
the following autumn. They visited the places 
of eminent interest throughout England. Then 
continued their journey touring France and Italy. 
At last, tired of sight-seeing, and longing for 
home, they sailed for America. In the early 
spring a little more than a year from the time of 
their departure they arrived in New York. 

A few weeks afterwards a carriage drew up to 
the Sexton Homestead, in Sandy County, Ken- 
tucky. Aunt Mandy Sexton was paring apples 
out on the back porch, at the time, and thinking 
some railroad contractor (for such were numer- 
ous in that country just then) had stopped to get 
a drink of water, she took down a gourd dipper 
from the kitchen wall and hastened around the 
house, toward the well. When she came in view 
of the road she discovered Lady and Clifton 
alighting from their carriage. With a joyous 
shout she sprang toward them; she dropped the 


190 /iV THE SHADOW OF THE CUMBERLAHDl^. 

gourd and stepping on it, smashing it into pieces. 
In an instant she had crossed the yard and held 
her niece tightly in her loving arms. Between 
exclamations oif joy, and sobs of grief, the good 
old soul tried to tell them how happy she felt; 
how glad she was to again have them at home. 
The words choked in her throat , and she broke 
down and wept. 

“Laws hev mercy, children,” she pathetically 
cried, “hits like havin’ them back, what’s in hevin, 
fer ter see ye here er gin.” She tottered ; her emo- 
tions had overcome her. Clifton assisted her to 
a chair on the gallery. Once more Lady entered 
her old home. When she came out she brought 
a turkey-wing fan, a clay pipe and a twist of 
“home made” tobacco. Clifton filled the pipe and 
lit it; and when the clouds of sweet scented 
smoke floated up among the vines that clustered 
over the door, he handed the pipe to the old 
woman. A saintly smile played over her face, as 
she murmured : 

“Thank God, we ar’ all et home tergether once 
more — all but one.” She began to weep. They 
consoled her as best they could but every little 
while she would say : 

“Oh, ef Tobe wuz jist here, how happy I’d be.” 

That night when the moon had climbed above 
the mountain and was showering its mellow 


I AM ONE OF THEM. 


191 


golden rays over Sandy County, the household 
gathered out on the gallery. The air, sweet with 
the scent of blooming flowers, murmured cheer- 
fully through the fresh young leaves. The plain- 
tive song of a whip-poor-will came from out in the 
woods, and a complaining owl dowm in the dusky 
dell spoke to them of other days — days now gone 
forever. 

While they sat talking Lady went into the 
house. When she came out she softly placed in 
Clifton’s hands the old violin — the one Tobe used 
to play. With a sweep of the bow he sent their 
thoughts back to the night, long ago, when he had 
surrendered his heart to the dearest, sw^eetest crea- 
ture on earth, to him. 

Long after the others had gone to bed, Clifton 
and Lady sat on the old gallery talking. The 
chickens out in the hen house were crowing for 
midnight. The owl had ceased his complaining 
and the whip-poor-will’s song no longer could be 
heard. 

As they arose to go into the house Clifton 
clasped Lady in his arms and softly said : 

“Darling little angel, we have traveled over 
much of the w^orld; have seen many people and 
places, but have we seen any as dear to our hearts 
as those of our Old Kentucky Home?” 

“No, sweetheart, I l>elieve not,” she murmured. 


192 IV THE SHADOW OF THE OUMBERLAVDS. 

‘'No, we have not,” he rejoined, “and little one, 
I believe that there is nO' better people on God’s 
green earth than these who dwell here in the Big 
Sandy Valley ; they may appear, tO' those unfamil- 
iar with their customs, a little odd; but for 
warm hearted hospitality, charity and fidelity the 
world holds not their equal.” 

“Yes, love, I know all you say is true, and 
thank God, I am one of them” she replied. 

He pressed a kiss to her lips and they went into 
the house. 


FIVE YEARS AFTER. 


N a lordly eminence overlooking the 
town of Levica where a cluster of 
giant oaks and stalwart pines tower 
above a carpet of soft swaying blue 
grass, a broad drive way made of white pebbles 
and bordered with pink shells leads up to a state- 
ly mansion. On the veranda a man is sitting and 
by his side, swinging in a hammock, is his wife. 
Out on the front lawn a negro boy is playing with 
a woolly dog to the delight of a chubby, rosy 
faced child in short dresses. The man and wo- 
man are Clifton and Lady and the rosy faced 
child is theirs, and for “old time’s sake” they 
call him “Little Henry.” 

Down, in front of them, across fields of waving 
corn and nodding wheat glistens the Silvery 
vSandy. On the nearer shore a train of palace cars 
is sweeping down the valley to the North. On the 
opposite bank a long smoky train of coal cars is 
crawling up a heavy grade, on its way to the 
South. 

The Arcadia of a decade ago, is in the hands 
of the ‘'merciless furriner.” 



THE END. 




'•«A 



















MOV 1904 




